A Marriage of Inconvenience
by deathofaraven
Summary: A deal between Sparrow and one of the Heroes goes awry when Logan decides to impliment it years later, forcing his sister into an arranged marriage. And, with the fate of a war in her hands, you can bet she's not going to take it lying down. (Contains an atypical romance, reader beware!)
1. The Contract

**Disclaimer:** I own a top hat, a flintlock, some chicken, and some (fake) gold pieces. However, I do not own Fable; that is property of Lionhead Studios and Microsoft. I also do not own any of the songs, cultural references, or quotes...erm...quoted in this fic and they all belong to their separate owners. In short, I'm making no money off this, so please don't sue me or I'll be a very sad penguin, okay?

**Dedication:** To the beta team, without which this fic would still be rotting on my hard drive. Thanks to **Autumn-Dagaz**, **VergilsBitch**, **The Holy Dead** (of FictionPress) and **Ryver et Rhine** for the help, to **Ravencroft1972** for reading it over first and listening to me ramble about plot bunnies in the middle of the night. To **Clairavance** for full-on editing this beast and offering up great support. To **LilithEncodead** for the encouragement to get over my fangirl phobia and to actually post something for this fandom. And, finally, to my Master Beta: **chaotic one** of FictionPress; thanks for being both the best mum ever and for how much work you do on all my writing. This is for you guys!

* * *

_"She's out of sight, h__e's out of mind. __They've always lived in the castle.  
__The frozen nights and moving lights, t__hey're inside out of the window.  
__There's a fire in the city of pictures l__eaving nothing but ashes below.  
__It's only forever, for a day; __Tomorrow is burning away. __Burn away.  
__She's out of touch, h__e's out of time. __They'll always live in the castle_."  
_~The Birthday Massacre, Burn Away_

* * *

**One:  
****The Contract**

The royal gardens were truly eerie at night. Fog cloaked everything; turning the plants into lurking creatures and making even the most normal of statues appear suspicious. The city of Bowerstone, and its many ports, lay hidden behind a shimmering veil of white that seemed to have bathed the castle in silence.

_Silence._

Several of the guards shifted uncomfortably. This sudden, strange quiet didn't sit well with them; they couldn't fathom what _exactly_ it meant. Add in the broken window of the princess's chambers, and the lack of guards by her door, and "uncomfortable" didn't even begin to cover how they felt. After all…what if the princess was _dead?_

She wasn't.

High above the streets of Bowerstone, a lone tower's windows shone with a dull golden light. The tower itself was an oddity, rising up impossibly high and only accessible through the fragile-looking, ivory-stoned bridge connecting it to the castle proper. It looked nigh impenetrable. And, yet, it was here that a young woman, barely the age of twenty, could be found. The princess was worse for wear; her pale, calloused fingers traced a symbol carved into the stone floor and her slightly scraggly brown hair cascaded over her shoulders to brush her waist. Her eyes were haunted.

She hated it here. The time she had spent imprisoned felt unending. The empty, torturous days, the bleak eternity of night—both were laid bare before her and Victoria was convinced that soon she would lose her mind.

If she hadn't lost it already.

Hence the window incident (as she was sure it would later be referred to). Truth be told, she hadn't _actually_ intended to throw herself out a window. _Really_. All she'd wanted was to escape, and so, when all other means had failed, she'd broken the window, climbed out onto the ledge…and then her foot slipped on the rain-slick stone and she'd fallen right onto the glass-littered ground below. Well, she'd never said it was a _foolproof_ plan. She pitied the poor gardener who had discovered her—if _that_ hadn't been mind-scarring, she didn't know what was.

The princess sighed, her fingers momentarily stopping in their tracing. She glanced around the room almost suspiciously. Victoria wasn't certain, but she thought the round room had once been a study. Bookcases lined the walls and a stained-glass window rose up gloriously beside her. However, the comfortable-looking leather chair and solid oak desk, like the small iron-framed bed, were bolted down, and the dusty bookcases were empty, ruining the illusion of peaceful seclusion.

Victoria shot the heavy, re-enforced doors a dark look. Those helped ruin it, too, seeing as she had yet to find a way to open them. _Bloody doors._

Her expression somewhere between thoughtful and disinterested, she turned back to the window. Her fingers resumed their tracing. The princess attempted to see through some of the lighter panes of glass, but failed since the fog and the darkness obstructed her view of both the sea and of Bowerstone. A memory came to mind and, instantly, guilt clawed at her gut. It was all her fault. She remembered it all with the clarity of a much-feared nightmare. Major Swift standing before Logan and the crowd, another soldier's gun to his head. Ben's expression a mix of horror and fury. He'd restrained himself, and she…well, she couldn't just _let_ the Major _die_. She'd tried to stop the execution. And then there was no way for them to escape.

Poor Ben…it wasn't fair of her to get him caught with her. She wasn't sure she believed her brother that he was alright and just locked up. She wanted _proof_. Better yet, she wanted him _free_. She wanted to know what happened to Page and Walter. Had they come after them? Were they free or were they as captive as she was? Did they know Swift was dead? Was the revolution continuing? Was all her worry for nothing?

Frustrated, Victoria rested her forehead against the cool glass, clutching her arms about herself. What a vicious cycle this was. And, thinking only of her tattered alliance, all she wanted was a way out.

* * *

Logan paced the war room. He'd been doing that a lot lately, using the pacing to coax his mind into high gear. He felt like he was missing something; a rubbish notion, he knew, for _kings_ did _not_ simply _miss things_. But still…something was off.

Two issues dominating the forefront of his mind, he turned, walking out of the war room and into the study.

Answers, Logan knew, could sometimes be found in his father's journals when he could not find them himself. Granted, the likelihood of him finding both a way to get his sister safely away from the mess that currently was Bowerstone (and the remnants of the rebels that still hid there) _and_ to save Albion from a creature that none of its other inhabitants even knew was coming was slim to none. Going through his desk in search of the aforementioned volumes, he knew he would need nothing short of a miracle. But he was a _king_, for Avo's sake, and he'd be _damned_ if he let his worry _show_.

Finding a journal he'd not yet gone through, he flipped it open and began reading. Sparrow's writings were very…odd. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the way the entries were made; one entry would be business-like, the next comical, as if Sparrow had simply opened the journal to a random page and wrote down the first thing on his mind. This made for difficult study as Logan tried to match dates with those of conflicts he'd learned of. Despite the fact that the journal appeared to be from his father's early years as a king, when there had been the most and _only_ conflict under Sparrow's reign, there was very little mention of war or battles. It was strange to say the least.

Then, just as Logan was beginning to consider switching journals or hunting down old militial schematics, a strange phrase caught his eye. "_A deal with Heroes"?_

He brought the book closer and looked to the beginning of the section. _Words cannot describe how frustrated I now am at being right, _Logan read. _While I, thankfully, didn't underestimate the other's choices, I'm finding I'm nearly out of ways to repay them for the bloody Spire 'incident'. Two of the contracts have been resolved, but the third is being…_obstinate. _I wonder now if this was _really_ that good of an idea. Who ever knew making deals with Heroes could be so difficult?_

A few numbers followed the paragraph and Logan recognized them as reference numbers. The rest of the entry was entirely unrelated, and, after realizing such, Logan laid the journal down on his desk and closed it. Logan traced the edge of the journal thoughtfully. He wondered what his father meant.

Of course everyone had heard of what had transpired between Sparrow and Lucien in the Spire (despite that so very little was known about the other Heroes involved), but the rest…what was all this talk of contracts and choices? How could a contract be obstinate? Though his mind encouraged him to return to the truly pressing matters at hand, curiosity, it seemed, was indeed his family's curse. Logan made his way over to a cabinet full of his father's old papers.

The folder in question was astoundingly thin and sandwiched between an incredibly thick folder on Faraday/Reaver Industries and an only slightly smaller one on Oakfield trade. It was almost painfully obvious which saw the most use. So as not to disturb the order of the other files, Logan carefully removed the one he'd come for.

There were a surprisingly small number of documents within the folder, he noted as he spread them across the desktop. The contracts in question were the first three documents. The first two bore red wax seals, denoting their completion; the third, however, did _not_. Logan supposed that _that_ had been the troublesome one. Logan read it over with great interest, finding that it was between "Sparrow of Bowerstone and Reaver of Bloodstone".

Reaver's name caught him up for a second as he wondered if it was the same man with whom he'd been recently conducting business. Then he decided that had been a stupid thought. After all, how many people out there had Reaver's name? It wasn't something most mummys and daddys would call their sweet, _innocent_ little ones. Granted…the fact that it was the same man was odd; the industrialist didn't exactly look old enough….

But, alas, he digressed.

Logan's eyes narrowed the further along he read. His mind whirled into thought. An idea was creeping up on him with all the subtlety of a flaming hobbe; it was something bold and, most likely, controversial. The king placed the contract down before him, pondering it as though it were some great wonder. To follow through would cause (even more) scandal, but it would probably be a big enough shock to distract a good percentage of Albion while he prepared. And it would keep his sister occupied.

Well…that settled it, then.

Drawing out some heavy parchment and a fountain pen, Logan began to think of how to word everything. Somehow…he had the satisfactory feeling that his _request_ would be well embraced. No one would _ever_ dare refuse the King of Albion. All he needed was a simple "yes" and things could move forward in no time at all.

_One down; one to go._ Things were looking up.

Of course, that was usually when the floor fell out from beneath someone.

* * *

**AN:** First chapters always seem generic. Ah, well. I hope y'all enjoyed. Obviously this takes place in Fable III, circa Traitors. But there'll be some big AU twisties. Oh yeah, did I mention that? It's an AU. Well...more of an alternate ending. Also quite a bit of Bloodties references. Please review and tell me what you think!  
(_Note: all flames will be used to burn the Hero's Guild to the ground. They will not be tolerated. You flame, I'll report you and I'll make an example of you in front of everyone. You've been warned. I also don't want to hear anyone complaining about games in the series, Reaver, or anything like that. Questions, random thoughts, observations, fic-related stuff, fangirl/guy-isms? Sure thing, I'd love to hear them. Just please review constructively, or, at the very least, following proper netiquette. And please don't spoil the "At The Edge Of The World" novel for me...I haven't finished it yet_._ Don't worry, if you think this is harsh you should see what I'll do if you steal my ideas or "borrow" them without my permission_.)

**Developement Notes (you might want to read this, but you don't have to after this chapter):** I started this fic almost exactly a year ago with the single thought in mind that I was aiming to spite certain people who kept trying to pair my Fable III Hero and Reaver together in RPGs. Somehow, it morphed into something more...something I thought all of you might like. And it became more of an attempt to meet in between the two extremes of "omg, true love!" and "they'd never even respect each other, they'd kill each other first". It was, to put it mildly, quite entertaining to see where it would go. I'll be the first to admit that nine months it took to write the entire story out were extremely hard (Lionhead has some brilliant characters and I didn't want to butcher their characterization) and the three months of editing afterwards were, if anything, even harder. These developement notes are just bits of info and trivia about this story. Some of it will be humorous, some will answer questions, and others will...just be really strange.  
Also...MS Word tells me "Reaver", "Bowerstone" and "Albion" are not words...I refute this. Anyway. 'Til next chapter.


	2. The Ball

_"It is a necessary evil, yeah,  
__Just like highway gas stations and people, yeah.  
__I remember the golden days when all this was a mystery and  
__You could write a letter then or, god forbid, come visit me._"  
_~The Dresden Dolls (Necessary Evil)_

* * *

**Two:**  
**The Ball**

Victoria had never been one for parties. In fact, seeing as the last one she'd attended had suddenly become a massacre as well as an attempt on her and Page's lives, the princess had completely sworn them off. But it wasn't exactly like she had a _choice_ this time.

Three days previous, though it felt like a lifetime ago, Logan had come to see her in her tower room. Once the faux-pleasantries and Victoria's furious pleas for her and her friend's release were over and done with, he'd calmly, almost emotionlessly, informed her that he was having a "minor" party and she most certainly _would_ be attending. Despite relenting and agreeing that she would be somewhat agreeable, Victoria had begun to nonverbally voice her..._displeasure_ with current events. She refused to eat more than a couple bites of her meals, refused to sleep for very long, and refused to speak to the guards who came to check on her. Yes, she was well aware that it was an _extremely_ childish tactic, but she really could care less. At least she was getting her point across.

Granted, the lack of doing anything meant she had extra time to dwell on Logan's little party. The fact that it "happened" to fall on the anniversary of Lucien's defeat in the Spire was not lost on her. It was…surprisingly egotistical of Logan. Their mother would have approved.

And so Victoria condemned herself to pacing and plotting. Her hands knotted as she worried her lip, but every idea she came up with had too great of a chance that it would end in tragedy. The princess felt very, very trapped at that moment. And painfully alone.

So she decided she would play along.

For now.

The day of the ball had gone oddly smoothly in her opinion. That afternoon, she'd allowed a pair of Logan's Honor Guard to escort her into a spare bedroom within the castle proper. Though she had longed to gather her Will and strike down the men before making another bid for freedom, Ben's face came to mind and she went along with the guards compliantly. Not that she could have actually accomplished it, had she tried. She wasn't completely certain if she could even use Will without her gauntlets. Once they'd reached their destination, she had allowed herself to be subjected to the most extensive bit of grooming in her young life. Not that Jasper hadn't kept her looking a princess, even for a battle, but Victoria's tendency to get into _everything_ meant she didn't stay that way for long.

Victoria frowned to herself as she remembered the way the maid who'd helped her dress had flinched every time she looked at her. The princess knew it was _possible_ it was simply nerves, but she had the feeling it was...something _else_. She moved as if to touch her face then stopped herself, irately balling her fists in the violet satin of her dress. Her irritation turned to surprise as the door opened and a cheerful bark reached her ears.

"Nero!" she gasped, whirling around as a surge of happiness coursed through her.

The black and white collie gave her a look of adoration no human could ever hope to emulate when she knelt down to scratch his ears. She'd worried horribly for her poor dog since her royal screw up (no pun intended), thinking he ran off and was now starving on the streets, or far worse, if that were possible, that he had ended up dead. Seeing Nero alive and well made Victoria feel more grounded; she could face anything with her dog at her side.

And then she looked up and realized that her brother had entered the room as well and any bit of good cheer she'd found evaporated on the spot.

"Logan," she said tersely, her fingers weaving through her dog's fur in a comforting motion.

"Sister, we need to speak," he replied, finally closing the door and seating himself in an armchair.

Victoria frowned, not moving from her spot on the floor. She eyed her elder brother critically. Despite the formal violet, gold, and silver of his attire and his brown hair in its usual slicked-back style, something seemed _wrong_ with him. His dark eyes were pinched and held heavy bags. He was too pale. Too thoughtful looking. _He's up to something,_ she thought. _Be on your guard._ "I didn't realize we had anything more to say to each other."

_Nor is there _anything_ I_ want _to talk to _you_ about._ The unspoken words hung in the air between them, so clear they were nearly visible.

Logan's annoyance was well hidden and he simply pretended his sister had not spoken at all. "I trust I needn't remind you of how you will be expected to behave; nor of the consequences of your actions should you choose to act-out."

Ire burned in Victoria's gut and pulsed through her veins. She clenched her teeth. "You're right. You _don't._"

"Good. Then I've no need to be concerned about punishing you for acting like an errant child."

"_Don't you threaten me, Logan._ I am _not_ a child, despite your lack of notice."

"Really? Then what was your attempted revolution if not a _child's_ rebellion?"

"Avo save you, Logan, you really think this entire ordeal is about some idiotic revenge?!" Victoria all but yelled.

Nero whimpered in the silence that followed his mistress's outburst. He shifted his weight on his front paws, muscles trembling with anxiety. Though the humans in the room had, for the most part, forgotten about him, he was still falling prey to their rising emotions.

"I realize," Victoria began again, working to control her voice, "that what I've done has labeled me a threat, but I'm not a fool, _brother_. You've taken everything I ever cared for from me. Ben's _life_ depends on my compliance. Do you really think I'll give him up, too? I'll do what you want, Logan. I'll play your games and pretend my brother isn't a bully that must hide behind threats and harsh judgments. And, if I continue to do so, what more can you _possibly_ do to me?"

She searched her brother's face, hoping for even the smallest sign that her words had had any affect on him, only to feel a crushing wave of disappointment as his expression failed to change. Her words, it seemed, had all the affect of water rolling off a duck's feathers. Well, that was depressing. So much for appealing to his better nature.

"We're understood then, sister?"

The princess looked down at the rug, stroking Nero to calm herself. "Completely."

She heard Logan get to his feet; his soft, measured footsteps made their way to the door. The click of the latch echoed through the uncomfortably silent room. The door opened but Logan didn't leave.

"All I ask, Victoria," he murmured, "is that you keep playing along."

Victoria stared, wondering why he felt the need to say so. Did he want the last word? Or was there _more_ to the night than he was letting on?

She never got to ask. Before she could begin to form a retort, the door had closed behind him. Logan was gone.

* * *

The chatter of nobles was overly loud and echoed through the room in a manner that reminded Victoria of a group of over-excited chickens. She would know; the princess had saved a flock of chickens from a grisly death-by-pie-maker before, and she _knew_ how loud they were. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes or slouch in her chair. The seat was the very same one her mother had sat upon when both the King and Queen of Albion had been required at court. Feelings about Albion's current state aside, and though she had never gotten along with her mother, she wanted to do well by her memory in front of all these...two-faced, backstabbing fools was a little harsh, wasn't it? Plus, what was left of her bruised and battered pride wouldn't allow her to sit in any manner other than was proper. And so she sat. And waited.

Nero lay asleep at her feet and Victoria would have loved to join him. Sleep sounded lovely.

Everyone was waiting for Logan. He was expected to make a speech before the "festivities" could begin. The princess tried to mentally hurry him along (not that it helped any). She felt like some of the nobles who had been eyeing her since her arrival were vultures or wolves waiting for the kill. The mental image of nobles turning into wolves brought a chill to her skin. The sooner this ball was over the better; and the sooner she might have a chance to talk her brother into letting her have a chat with Ben.

Fat chance of that happening, though, so she wasn't getting her hopes up.

The throne room's grand, ornate doors opened and Logan entered to a round of polite applause from the nobility. Straight-backed and proud, the King approached his throne. Logan's eyes fell on his sister and she stared emotionlessly back. Once, she had been one of his biggest supporters, and now, for all the reaction she had towards him, she could have been dead.

"People of Albion," Logan began when he'd reached the thrones and turned to face the assembled crowd, "lend me your ears. We live in dire times and the threat from within Albion itself could not be greater."

Victoria abruptly turned her gaze from him and attempted to tune him out. _What rubbish_. She _refused_ to sit there and listen to him demonize the Resistance. The only thing keeping her from leaving being Ben, the princess simply tried to ignore her brother as she pretended to be the good, supportive sister she used to be. When her brother hadn't acted a tyrant, that is.

Still, she wasn't as good at ignoring people as she would have liked (rather like her father had been, actually), and she was without distraction, so random bits of speech floated through her brain. Most of it sounded like a bunch of bull to her; all designed to keep the ignorant nobles calm and to keep the situation of the rebels under control. Victoria didn't have a doubt that Logan could have told them anything from the sky being purple to the world being a triangle and they would have eaten it up and chorused their agreement. That kind of bootlicking made her nauseous.

The sound of applause rose up once more and roused her from her brooding. _It's already over? That was fast._

"On a lighter note," her brother added.

_You just _had_ to think it,_ she thought to herself, noting something was suspiciously off with Logan's tone.

Not being privy to his sister's thoughts, Logan continued on, "I wish to announce the engagement of my sister and our head of Industry here in Bowerstone. Though Reaver, unfortunately, was _detained_ on business, I trust you will give them both your warmest regards."

_What the...?_

It took a moment before applause rose up once more, awkward and false as it rang through the stunned crowd. It took even longer for Logan to meet his sister's eyes. Victoria simply stared, horrified, at him. What the _hell_ had he just gotten her into?

* * *

**AN:** Oooooh, yeah, and now we get into plot! Or something...I dunno what we got into. Maybe a mess? Eh...I've no mind for wit, at this moment, but I promise Reaver will show up soon. I hope who ever is reading this enjoyed the chapter! Review! Review! Review!

**Dev. Notes:** Reaver was supposed to show up in chapter one...and then he was supposed to show up in this chapter, but I think he was trolling me, because, every time I tried to write him in, he'd be like "LOL I'm out of here. Bysie!" and would leave me sitting here to ponder why I bother. Then, after I came to terms with him not being in the scene, he'd pop up again, wondering why I wasn't writing him. Which is why the chapters thus far have moved so slowly. Also, plot. Characterization. All that fun stuff. Yeah. That. Totally not attempts at spiting annoying main characters.


	3. Throwing Stones

_"Standing where I should be, b__elieving as I'm told to believe.  
__Being who I should be, d__oing what I should do.  
__Did you hear what I said? __Did you get what I meant?  
__What you saw is an illusion; You're living in delusion."_  
_~Aimee B (Future In My Hands)_

* * *

**Three:  
****Throwing Stones**

"Can I _talk_ to you?" Victoria hissed into her brother's ear. "_Now, Logan_."

The ball had begun what felt like ages ago and only then was the princess getting a chance to ask for a private word. She was glad no one had attempted to give her congratulations. Avo knew she would have probably snapped and gone off on the entire room; her anger was great enough for her to do so and she cursed the fact that her brother hadn't spoken to her about this beforehand. Not that she would have been any less angry about it then, but at least she might have been able to feign calm a bit better.

"I thought there was nothing left for us to say to one another, sister," Logan murmured in reply, taking care not to let those nearest to them be successful in their attempted eavesdropping.

"Oh, I've plenty of things to say to you, Logan."

"Can they possibly wait?"

"No." Of _course_ Victoria could _try_ to wait, but she wanted to talk _now_ lest some poor fool accidentally push her into making a scene...which she seemed to recall Logan explicitly telling her _not_ to do.

With an exasperated sigh, Logan beckoned her to follow him from the room. They walked in silence, the music and chatter from the ball easily masking their tension. While Victoria seethed, Logan used the time to think. Neither of them was good at communication, and neither of them had a good feeling about the coming conversation.

Thick rugs muffled their footsteps as they moved through the halls. The sounds of the ball dulled to a faint murmur. Finally, they reached the study. Victoria swept into the dimly lit room, barely containing her emotions. Logan kept up his calm façade even as he closed and locked the door behind them.

"I will _not_ marry that man!" the princess exploded as soon as the lock clicked in the door. Logan sighed, but Victoria continued on before he could speak. "No! No, I'm being serious. You _can't_ make me do this. Logan, he's vile; a poison. Everything he touches turns to flame or crumbles to dust. I've seen it! And I've _seen_ what Industrial has become under his control. No matter the cost, Logan, I—I despise him. I _can't_ marry Reaver."

"You can, and you will. It was father's wishes."

"...what?" was Victoria's only, extremely confused, reply.

"And, should you refuse to," Logan continued heedlessly on, "the traitor will die."

The princess waved the statement off. "What do you mean 'our father's wishes'? Father would _never_ agree to something like this."

"He did," her brother replied laconically, his tone flat.

Victoria's brown eyes followed him to his desk, watching as he removed a sheaf of paper from a drawer and held it out to her. The princess hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what was written there. After a moment, she took it; feeling her heart break as she read and her fears were confirmed by her father's smooth but inelegant scrawl.

"You were too young before father died," Logan was saying, though Victoria barely heard him, "but I know he would have enforced it. Father never made promises lightly."

"How do we know this isn't a forgery?"

"I had it validated."

Victoria grit her teeth. There was no need to ask by _whom_ he'd had it validated.

"Will you consent to it?"

The words left her brother's lips and she looked away from him to stare holes into the rug. She never gave her word without meaning it. She wasn't well versed in trickery. Like her father before her, Victoria was truthful to a fault most times. So, what it really came down to was this: could she sell her soul to Reaver to keep Ben safe a little longer, or could she not? How much was her honor, integrity, and pride really worth? How far could she go for justice? For freedom? _No distance is too great_. She looked up at her brother, and, for the first time in her memory, lied. "Yes."

Logan's relief was nearly palpable. "Mother and father would be proud of you."

Victoria shot him a dark look as she dropped the contract down upon the desk. She left without a word. _Funny, brother. I think they'd be disgusted with you._

* * *

"I can't _believe_ it."

"I don't think anyone can, love."

"I mean," the red-haired girl went on enviously, "what does he see in her? She's not even _pretty_."

"Sarah!" her dark-skinned companion chastised, trying and failing to hide her giggles.

"Bea, I'm _serious_. She's _not_; not with that horrid _scar_," she dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper.

The pair glanced around conspiratorially before the one named Bea whispered, "Don't be too hard, luvvie. She's just a girl."

"...What ever are you talking about?"

"She's _just_ a _girl_," the woman repeated significantly, her expression turning catty when she saw her companion understood. "She can't handle him like we can. She won't keep him occupied long. And when she's out..."

"We're back in." There was a dramatic sigh, before, "What a terrible bore to have to wait so long, though."

"A terrible bore, indeed," a new voice said flatly, her tone bordering on icy.

The noble's eyes widened and they turned to find the object of their ridicule standing directly behind them. The princess eyed them with distaste; her brown eyes narrowed but thoughtful, as if she were memorizing them. The aforementioned scar stretching from the bridge of her nose, across her right cheek, to just under her jaw line showed pale rose against the ivory of her skin and the princess pursed her full lips when she noticed the women staring at it.

"Do you mind?" Victoria asked coolly. "You're blocking the doorway."

She didn't give the women time for false flattery, brushing past them as soon as there was space. Nero trotted along at her heels, panting.

The princess shook her head as she exited the ballroom. To be honest, she wasn't surprised by anyone's behavior. The announcement had been a shock, and she'd been hearing odd snatches of such gossip all night. It was beginning to wear thin on her patience.

_And where,_ she wondered, ignoring all the suspiciously watching guards as she made her way to the gardens, _exactly is Reaver?_ That question had been bugging her more and more the later it got without his appearance. She _highly_ doubted he'd _forgotten_. Victoria had the steadily growing desire to hit the man; hard, and with something heavy…like a thesaurus.

On that highly amusing mental image, she entered the garden.

The night sky was exceedingly clear after the rain and fog of the previous days. The scent of the sea and growing things was carried to her on the cool breeze as silvery moonlight kissed her skin. Her royal purple slippers barely made a sound as she made her way slowly down a short set of stone steps.

Some people found the castle gardens creepy at night, but Victoria always loved them. The splash of water in the fountains was soothing and the view was unparalleled. The princess trailed her hand along the stone of her parents' mausoleum.

The garden also brought back painful memories of Elliot. Poor, poor Elliot, whose only crime was that he cared for people. Everything about him, from his brown hair to his round face to his kind smile, had radiated warmth. Elliot was warm where nothing else in Bowerstone was. And she had given him his dying wish: to save others instead of himself. She wondered where his family had buried him and how they were taking everything. She wondered if they hated her or if they understood. Victoria pushed those morbid thoughts away; she'd come here to think and calm down, not to mourn, after all.

She rounded the mausoleum, pondering what to do as she made her way towards the railing marking the end of the gardens. She leaned against it with a thoughtful sigh. Nero, tail wagging excitably at being outside once more, went to drink from one of the small ponds. Victoria wondered if he had the same feeling of wanderlust that she did; the need to _move_ and to do so _now_.

But there was nowhere to go and so Victoria simply knelt down beside her dog, occasionally trailing her fingers through the pond water or picking up stones, and consigned herself to thinking. How was she going to get out of this?

"My, my, princess. What a _surprise_ this is; though, truly, a frown does not suit you."

Victoria froze as the smugly sarcastic voice rolled over her. Her fist tightened around the rocks in her hand and her jaw clenched. Speak of the devil. Overcoming the sudden urge to maim something, she got to her feet and turned to glare at Reaver in a way that would have incinerated him had there been any power behind it. "_You_."

"Your powers of observation are _astounding_, highness," Reaver quipped, sounding as though he were laughing at her.

He looked much the same as the last time Victoria had laid eyes on him. Dark hair falling into even darker eyes. His top hat perched jauntily on his head as his leather-gloved hands rested lazily atop his walking stick; he was leaning on it, the stick, the princess noted, unsure _why_ that was nagging at her. Victoria's desire to hit him was amplified as she realized he was smirking that damnable smirk at her; the one that suggested the entire universe was a joke and only he got the punch line. She _really_ hated that smirk.

"How dare you?" Victoria managed after a second, her voice dipping lower in her irritation. When Reaver only raised a questioning brow at her, she went on: "How dare you speak to me after what you've done to me?"

Reaver's reply was mocking at best. "To _you?_ Imagine the havoc this little _ordalie_ will have on _my_ social life."

The man had to quickly step to the side as the infuriated princess launched a rock at him.

"On _your_ life?!" Victoria threw another rock. "You've _ruined me!_" Another rock. "You've stolen any chance of freedom I had!" And another rock. "How can you be so full of yourself?!" And yet _another_ rock was thrown.

"Sticks and stones, my dear. Now, if you're done with all this childish arguing, I can think of much _better_ ways to fill you up."

Victoria stared at him, indignant and horror-struck. She was out of rocks now, and the look Reaver was giving her after his last statement made her slowly begin to back away. He followed, something predatory in his movements. Victoria felt like she was facing down some monster intent on ravaging her. The princess was forced to halt, feeling the prickly branches of a hedge press against her back. She'd backed herself in a corner and Reaver was now much too close for her liking. Wanting to annoy him into leaving her alone, as usually worked on the nuisances in her life, Victoria quietly spat, "What could you _possibly_ be getting out of this that makes everything supposedly worth it?"

Reaver stopped short, head slightly tilted as if the question simultaneously amused and confused him. Dark eyes half-lidded, he lazily looked her over as if she were some great treat. Victoria blushed as his eyes went from the delicate gold netting holding her hair up, to the low golden drape of her dress's bodice, and finally lower, where her deep blue chemise showed through the slits in the bottom of her gold-embroidered, violet over dress. She decided she hated that look more than his smirk. It scared her. She tried to look away from him, wishing she could vanish, but he caught her chin.

Meeting her eyes with a smoldering glance, he gave her a smile like poisoned honey. "Why, I get _you_, of course."

* * *

**AN:** Well...I _did_ promise you guys Reaver, didn't I? :P Naughty, naughty boy. Anyway. I might go on a hiatus from posting chapters up...there doesn't seem to be very much love for this fic. So...I'll either see you guys next week or...when I decide to go off hiatus. If you have an interest in this fic and would like me to update, please review. Reviews fuel the writing drive, you know... I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.

**Dev. Notes:** And now my terrible French makes an appearance...oh my.


	4. Highway To Hell

_"Into the woods, under the trees, we follow the trail down to the sea._  
_There's nowhere to hide; don't wait for me._  
_Don't look behind you, there's nothing to see below._  
_Let me go. From here, I know, it's a long way home."_  
_~The Birthday Massacre (The Long Way Home)_

* * *

**Four:**  
**Highway To Hell**

The day after the ball passed with almost agonizing slowness. On the plus side, Victoria was allowed to freely walk through the castle's halls now (ignoring all the guards that had been ordered to keep a close eye on her, of course), but, on the flip side, she was informed she was to move in with _him_, her dear, _dear fiancé,_ for a "courting period". Whatever Logan had meant by that. She could _hardly_ wait; the suspense was killing her. Victoria briefly wondered if either of them would _survive_ the engagement.

She spent the day watching one of the maids pack what little she wanted to bring with her, though her thoughts were more occupied with how to stop the wedding and save the Resistance. Her head felt like a group of tiny hobbes was running rampant throughout her skull. Needless to say, planning wasn't working well.

Despite that, she _did_ take comfort in the thought that Nero would be coming with her. She also took comfort in the thought of all the open roads between the castle and..._wherever_ she was going to be living with Reaver. Someone could easily get lost on those roads if they weren't careful. They could simply _disappear_. Victoria was counting on it.

She didn't sleep that night, instead choosing to pace her chambers (she'd been brought back into them from the tower after the ball). Nero watched her with large, sad puppy eyes, occasionally wagging his tail tentatively at his mistress's muttering. It was a clear mark of her anxiety that even the _dog_ felt it.

The dreaded day dawned with spotty sunlight; the sun hiding behind gloomy gray clouds like a lady behind a lace veil. Victoria dressed herself carefully, choosing comfort and mobility over style: her corset was much looser than usual under her flowy, cream blouse, and her fawn-coloured skirt barely fell to her knees. Her brown, slightly-over-the-knee high leather boots were without heels. Combined with the deep green cloak she'd set aside, she knew she would have some decent camouflage once she got into the country.

Still, a journey didn't feel quite right without the comforting weight of her guild seal or her father's "pouch-of-endless-junk", as he had called it, at her side. It felt even worse without her weapons. What she wouldn't do for a good weapon….

She chatted at Nero as she waited for the guards to collect her. Collies weren't very good conversationalists, but the loving looks he fixed her with and the excited wagging of Nero's tail made her smile where everything else failed. Victoria didn't even want to begin thinking about how odd it was to have her only friend and ally be a dog. He had her back and would rip out the throat of anyone who dared harm her, so she could really care less about how insane others saw her.

Victoria had barely finished telling Nero that he was going to have to be calm and behave when the guards came for her. Though they looked similar enough in their royal colours, the guards were clearly as different as night and day. One seemed apprehensive about being so cold towards the princess; the other obviously didn't give a damn as long as he was getting paid. As they escorted her down to the castle's foyer, a dark, rarely-witnessed side of the princess thought about exploiting the more nervous of the guards. Her morality kicked into gear and the rest of her mind quickly shot the idea down. No, it was _wrong_; terrible. Doing so would make her no better than Reaver...or her brother. It was better to rely on herself, anyway. Who else did she have to rely on?

The sky was barely beginning to spit with rain as she stepped out of the castle, making her glad she'd slipped into her cloak before going out. Reaver was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, standing confidently beside a carriage. Victoria carefully made her way down the stairs, warily watching him watch her. She'd bet on the crown he was calculating something behind his devil-may-care attitude.

"Well, _hello_, your majesty."

Reaver's greeting caught her halfway down the stairs and she repressed the urge to shiver. Something about the way he said the words wasn't..._right_. He made the sentence almost sensual, as if greeting her was truly the world's greatest pleasure. For his trouble, he received a bleak look in greeting. If she was honest, she hoped her lack of enthusiasm would keep him from wanting anything to do with her.

She doubted it, though; he'd probably just think she was more fun like this.

The businessman clicked his tongue as though he disapproved. "Now, highness, what sort of behavior is that for a _princess?_ ...Though, considering your current wardrobe, it is _highly_ applicable, one might confuse you with a _monk_." Smirk growing at the princess's indignant look, he added, "Are you quite ready to go _home_, then?"

Those last words sounded horribly like a prison sentence to her, and Victoria's affront for her attire quickly turned to ire. She glared at him as though Reaver would care. _Wherever we are going is _not_ my home._ Victoria petulantly turned away from him to look at the carriage; she was surprised when she realized her guards had left her at the top of the stairs.

Quelling the sudden urge to run, she brushed past Reaver with an air of wanting to get something unpleasant over and done with. The carriage door was open and Nero, who'd been surprisingly quiet, hopped lightly in before his mistress. The dog settled down on one of the leather-cushioned benches as the princess began to pull herself in without much grace. She froze upon realizing a hand was being offered to her. Victoria hesitated to take it, feeling Reaver's eyes upon her. It was silly, they were both wearing gloves, after all, but she was afraid to touch him; it seemed…wrongly intimate, somehow.

And it felt almost like she was asking for help. She didn't like asking for help.

She hesitated a moment too long to appear nonchalant, but she accepted his hand, glancing briefly and confusedly at him before sitting beside her dog. This was going to be a _long_ day.

Nero rested his head on Victoria's lap, silently asking for her to scratch his ears. She complied as Reaver pulled himself in and sat across from her.

"You're not going to talk to me, are you," Reaver observed, sounding amused. He wasn't asking a question and so Victoria didn't deign to look at him. "How droll. But you _will_ talk to me eventually, _ma chere_."

Victoria took a breath to tell him to go to hell, and caught herself at the last second. She turned the unspoken words into an annoyed sigh and looked out the window. The carriage lurched into motion.

They rode in silence, the carriage gently rattling as they rolled over cobbled streets. As the sun began to rise higher in the sky, thoroughly hidden behind the heavy clouds that now leaked rain like an old roof, the large, gated manors that had lined the route to the castle gave way to bustling shops and smaller, quainter houses. Occasionally, as they progressed through Bowerstone, beggarly children (and sometimes adults) would run after their carriage in hopes of gold. Upon realizing to whom the carriage belonged to, those attempting to follow them promptly stopped; some staring after them with fear, others rather more hateful, as the carriage rattled on.

Guilt swelled in the princess's gut. She felt _awful_. Had she been walking, or had the carriage been hers, she would have given them gold. Instead, the beggars had only walked away with a fear for their lives. That kind of fear did not belong on a child's face, though it did bring the callousness of her companion into an even sharper, clearer light. He hadn't even batted an eyelash at their plight, and that fact somehow made Reaver seem even less attractive to her than before.

Victoria closed her eyes. _No. Don't get angry_. She'd loose any chance at an opportunity at running if she snapped now. Wanting justice was one thing, acting on foolishness was quite another. Needing a distraction, she turned to the book she'd brought with her for that exact purpose and attempted to lose herself within the pages.

She pretended she didn't know she was being carefully watched.

The roads began to wear off as they ventured out of the city, and, soon enough, the rocking of the carriage turned to bumping. The buildings they passed grew scarcer and scarcer until they found themselves upon open road. Trees began to pop up sporadically along the path; the grasses growing longer and the delicate, ornamental garden flowers of the city were replaced by larger, rougher wild flowers. The rain had halted, and, the further they traveled into the country, the sun graced them more and more with its presence.

Reaver would never admit it, but he was uncomfortable with the silence. Silence simultaneously bored him and put him on edge. And they had been silent for over _four hours_. Of course, he _knew_ she was doing this on purpose, and he knew why: she wanted him to feel both guilty for this _arrangement_ and insignificant, as though he were not worthy of speaking to her.

Not that it was working, but still...good show on her part.

But Reaver did have to admit, he _was_ an _extremely_ social creature; conversation was as important as food or air for him. The princess ignoring him was tantamount to starving or strangling him. Er...metaphorically, of course.

So he contented himself to watching her. The sun brought out hints of red and gold in the princess's unbound, mahogany hair, and he realized she looked annoyingly like her mother (whom he had been _very_ glad to see die). They had the same soft-featured face. The same high cheekbones and small nose and chin. The same tantalizingly full lips. In fact, she looked so little like Sparrow, the princess and her mother could have easily been twins.

He also realized that the dog was making eyes at him, and, truly, it was beginning to disturb him. He didn't know what the beast wanted, nor did he care to find out; it if even attempted to 'kiss' him, the dog was dead.

But Nero never moved and so the journey continued on uninterrupted.

They were entering upon paved roads again, though the paving stones were spotty at best. The wild greenery slowly became stone-fenced fields, some of which were heavily stocked with sacks and crates of trade goods. But soon even those passed, allowing gigantic pine trees and moss-covered rocks to enfold both sides of the path. The derelict brick corpses of abandoned mining buildings peeked out through the trees like brooding sentinels. They and the defunct monorail station cast a large section of road in perpetual shadow.

Victoria frowned at the sudden lack of light, unable to read, and glanced out the window to find the reason why. Remembering her current situation, she brightened considerably upon realizing they were in Millfields. And, if she was right, that meant they were near—

The carriage lurched violently, nearly throwing its occupants from their seats at the less-than-graceful ascent up a steep hill. Though...at least they were still moving, proving the horses were well-used to the terrain and they weren't going to have an accident...despite the creatures now moving very, very slowly.

Nero growled and whined at the sudden movement, prompting the princess to lay down her book and comfort him. She maintained her silence and spoke not a word, gently stroking the frustrated collie. Her gloved fingers wove through his black and white fur and Nero relaxed under his mistress's touch.

Victoria allowed a tiny smile in her amusement. Nero completely calmed, she looked up...and for the first time in hours her eyes fell on Reaver. He wasn't looking at her and he seemed about as thrilled as Nero was about being jostled around. A vaguely annoyed expression had settled over his usually smug face, his dark hair slightly disarrayed, and Victoria felt her smile start to grow. Quickly, she turned to look out the window and wiped her expression clean. The last thing she needed was for _Reaver_ to get the wrong ideas...not that _that_ took much, though she'd not let someone say she'd not tried.

She kept staring out the window as they crested the hill and began to make their way down the other side, not trusting herself to look at her companion. Their driver led the horses over to a grassy area so they could rest and the carriage came to a halt.

Bower Lake spread out before them like a large, gleaming sapphire; the gazebo in the center looking like a scrap of lace amidst waters of such vivid blue. The princess had many fond memories of this lake. Namely said memories were of her father and brother, and she reached up to touch the ring hanging from her neck on a thin chain. One such memory came to her in particular; she'd convinced Logan to persuade their parents to let them spend the day at the lake, provided they were both home for dinner. It was her favorite memory of her brother. They'd attempted to climb the remains of Hero Hill until one of their guards had politely asked them to come down before they 'broke their bloody necks' and there was hell to pay from their mother. They'd raced each other across the lake, and, when Logan had declared he needed a break, Victoria had gone off on her own to look for anything interesting. She'd found a small chunk of aquamarine secreted away behind a large rock and had later given it to her father in the manner most children thought such things made wonderful presents, hence the ring around her neck. It was one of the few things she had of her father's. She dropped her hand from the ring. Such memories seemed as if from another life.

And then, looking out at the lake (or, more accurately, at the mansion in the shadow of Hero Hill), something completely off task occurred to her: why were they resting the horses? Didn't Reaver _live_ in Millfields? Why had they stopped if they were nearly at their destination? After all, they were so close, it seemed a bit unnecessary.

"Reaver?" Victoria called tentatively, her voice soft from lack of use.

"Ah, so she _can_ speak. What a surprise!" His voice practically dripped sarcasm and she didn't need to look at him to know he was smirking down at her.

She ignored the comment. "Reaver, where _exactly_ are we going?"

"I rather thought I made that quite clear earlier, my dear. We're departing _home_."

"Yes, but I seem to recall you living _here_." She paused, mid-gesturing at the far off mansion at the look he gave her, and cocked a confused brow. "You don't live here anymore, do you? So..._where the bloody hell are we going?_"

"Anxious, are you, princess?"

His amusement was lost on her. "No, only confused. There's not much to be reached through here other than Brightwood, and-" She hesitated, face paling slightly at the memory of claws and moonlight. "And Silverpines."

Victoria's expression went unmissed by Reaver, who leapt upon it enthusiastically. With a fake sympathy that even someone blind and _deaf_ wouldn't buy, he said, "Why the concern? You wouldn't happen to be _afraid of the dark_, would you?"

The princess grit her teeth and longed for her gauntlets so she could lob just _one_ fireball at the man across from her.

"Of course not," she retorted, matching Reaver's own sarcastic tone. "Avo forbid, a _Hero_ afraid of the _dark?_ I couldn't _imagine_ the sorry state this country would be in, should _that_ occur." Flatly, she added, "You must really think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

The question was clearly rhetorical, what with there being hell to pay no matter the answer. Victoria crossed her arms, turned angrily from Reaver, and stared broodingly out the window, content to say not another word to him. Ever again. He could just crawl into a hole and _die_ for all she cared. Annoyance flowed from her in waves, causing Nero's ears to perk up oddly. The princess had the feeling Reaver was internally laughing at her, admittedly childish, behavior. Still, she didn't see how she was at fault for not being fond of Silverpines; _he_ wouldn't be fond of it, either, had he had his face ripped open by a balverine there.

Though, admittedly, Reaver's remark about the dark _had_ been accurate (Silverpines seemed _exceedingly_ dark no matter the time of day). But she wasn't afraid of that; she was just a little too old and she'd been born in rather the wrong family to be afraid of the dark. Still, she offered a silent prayer to the gods that that particular wood was not their destination, and went about ignoring Reaver again.

An hour or so later, they continued on their journey. They passed large, pastel-coloured mansions, sprawling gardens, and leisurely strolling nobles in strange attire meandering along the sides of the road. Victoria saw a couple nobles quickly turn to whisper to their companions as the carriage passed and she blushed despite her anger.

They made their way out of Millfields and into a wall of dark trees. Almost immediately, they were plunged into an artificial twilight. Pines and firs lined both sides of the road, growing so closely together that only a _tiny_ sliver of semi-cloudy blue sky could be seen. It was...highly claustrophobic, making one feel as if they were being buried alive. As the deep green trees closed in around them, the carriage had never felt more like a coffin.

Victoria didn't know for how much longer they traveled. The foliage crowding them kept the sun mostly from view. There was something...very creepy about this place, the middle of nowhere between everything she knew of. She didn't like it at all.

Time stretched on, passing slower than it ought to have. At one point, the trees had thinned and Victoria saw a decently-sized, walled village only a mile or so down the road from where the dirt path they were on branched into two. The town was ignored and they never left the path, leaving Victoria to wonder once more where they were. She'd never seen _that_ town before.

And soon they were devoured by green again.

Nero grew antsy the further they traveled, and Victoria couldn't blame him. She'd lost all sense of time once more, and she was beginning to doubt herself. If she didn't know where she was, how could she run? She'd been counting on something, anything from divine intervention to a group of unwitting bandits, but it looked like the only way she'd be able to slip away was if she clobbered Reaver unconscious with her book. The princess glanced at him thoughtfully out of the corner of her eye. Reaver was certainly taller than her, and, though he looked skinny as a whippet, she was sure his clothes were hiding that he was stronger than he looked. She returned her gaze to the window. As fun as beating up on Reaver sounded, she was sure it wouldn't end well.

For her, that is.

The tiny sliver of sky Victoria could see out her window grew darker and darker over the next few hours. She was beginning to wonder if they were to travel the entire night when the carriage pulled to a sudden halt. Victoria frowned. It was almost _too_ sudden.

"What _are_ they doing?" Reaver asked himself in a manner reminiscent of a professor asking _why_ his students were suddenly misbehaving.

Victoria attempted to peer through the gloom, wanting to know the same thing. Was luck with her, after all? "I don't know."

Being that it was the first time either of them had spoken in several hours, the words came as a bit of a surprise, and they both exchanged odd looks.

There was a sharp, authoritative knock on the door. "Mas'er Reaver?" a nervous, heavily accented voice called. "We got a bi' of a prob'em, sir."

Reaver sighed melodramatically, doubtlessly feeling like he was surrounded by incompetent fools, as he reached for his jeweled walking stick. He barely spared the princess a glance as he got out and closed the carriage door behind him.

And Victoria simply sat there, hardly daring to breathe. She was alone. He'd _left her alone!_ She could barely contain a joyful squeal, contenting herself instead to a grim smirk. The princess quickly looked around the carriage for anything of use, and, since Reaver's hat wasn't exactly a weapon, found nothing. As she slipped her book into her cloak's pocket, she realized for the first time how empty the carriage's interior was. It was almost as though someone had stripped it bare...

The murmur of voices outside let her know Reaver and his guards were occupied, but Victoria still checked out both windows. No one was nearby that she could see. She waited a few minutes, listening intently, then she held her breath and hesitantly tried the door. It opened easily and she let out her breath.

Victoria motioned for Nero's silence, using a signal she was well versed in using with the collie, and stealthily got out of the carriage. She expected a guard to shout, for someone to ask her what she thought she was doing, or for Reaver himself to suddenly materialize beside her to announce her failure. No such things happened.

She glanced around the side of the carriage for an estimation of how much time she had. The road up ahead was partially blocked with some manner of debris; it looked like it was going to be a while. _Perfect._ She edged around the back of the carriage and darted into the trees as quietly as she could.

The scent of pine and earth surrounded her as she ran and it was incredibly difficult to see. Every time she dodged one branch, there was another behind it to whack her in the face. But she wove through the trees easily enough; Nero keeping pace with her the entire time.

Soon enough, she was a good distance away and she heard no signs of alarm from behind her. She had no idea where she was running to, either; just what she was running from. She didn't care where she went; she just wanted to get _away_. It looked like she was going to get what she wanted.

And then the shot rang out.

Victoria collapsed, clutching her leg and biting back a scream. Her left leg burned with such an intense pain it was as though it had been set ablaze. And the _blood_...there was just _so much_ blood. Nero was whining, ears back in fear and anxiety. Victoria grit her teeth, trying to block out the pain and trying not to _cry_.

From her left, footsteps lightly crunched their way toward her over fallen leaves and branches. A minute or so later, a pair of shiny, strangely spotless boots came into view. Victoria held in a growl, knowing who those boots belonged to even before she looked up into Reaver's smirking face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" the princess burst out at him.

Reaver pulled the furious and unwilling girl to her feet, oblivious to the pain the movement caused her. Tone chastising, he said, "Do you remember when you asked if I thought you an idiot? Well, _this_ certainly isn't garnering any points for your intellect now, is it?"

_"So you shot me?!"_

He rolled his eyes. "It's just a scratch."

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**AN: **And what a scratch it is...  
Aaaaand, I'm back. With a long chapter for y'all, even. Ain't that nice? And Reaver's still a jerk. But we love him for it. Or...I assume you do, if you're reading this. O_o Anyway. At least we've finally left the castle, even if the chapter was a bit slow. Whoo-hoo. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. It makes me happy to see there are readers for this. I hope this chapter was decent. Review, please, and tell me what you think. :3 (Happy Mother's Day to all mums out there.)

**Dev. Notes: **For a long time, this was actually the longest chapter in the story. Fortunately (or unfortunately, haha), it's not anymore. I actually planned on doing most of the chapter in Reaver's point of view, at first, and then I decided to do it half and half. Unfortunately, neither worked out and you have the chapter as it is now. I suppose I should be apologizing to Claire at this moment; she told me to put scene breaks in where I went into Reaver's POV, but I decided against it, thinking it made the chapter too blocky and disrupted the flow. I also have to say it was nice not to have to write Logan this chapter; as much as I like him, he's not easy to write.

* * *

**Anon Review Replies:**

_AnimeDreama:_ Thanks! ^^ I'm glad you enjoyed it. =)


	5. The Gates of Dis

_"Don't talk, don't say a thing,_  
_'Cause your eyes, they tell me more than your words."_  
_~The Fray (Ungodly Hour)_

* * *

**Five:**  
**The Gates of Dis**

The servants were nowhere nearly as surprised as they ought to have been about their master bursting into the kitchen, carrying a shot, bleeding, and loudly cursing woman; though their lack of surprise could be counted as a good thing since that meant they cleared the room quickly. Who didn't love a fast-working staff?

Reaver had to admit, he was somewhat impressed with the girl...well, with her vocabulary. She'd not stopped cursing him from the time he'd carted her through the trees to when he'd gotten her on a horse and rode her up to the mansion. Some of what she said, like when she'd called him a son of a succubus's whore, was _highly_ creative, the rest was simply baffling; he was unsure her 'suggestions' were anatomically, socially, politically, or otherwise correct. Another man would have feared for certain parts of his anatomy. Reaver just wanted to laugh.

But the princess hadn't _actually_ said a word about her leg, so he knew she would be fine eventually. Which he'd known before he'd pulled the trigger. But, still, it was nice to hear since he'd rather not have to kill King Logan because he'd accidentally killed his sister and he didn't exactly want to be _executed for treason_ just yet. He had far too many ideas left running about his head to die without trying them first.

He sat her on a table and picked up a couple things as the princess's fuming continued on. It was only when he'd put a small bottle of crimson liquid and a knife down beside her, and, damp cloth in hand, reached for the hem of her skirt that her diatribe faltered.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice distrusting and meek.

Victoria's eyes were wide and she was blushing faintly. She'd also taken hold of his wrist. Reaver couldn't help but smirk at her.

"Removing the bullet, _dear_. Wouldn't want the wound to _fester_ now, would we?" Sarcasm was heavily evident in his voice, as he watched her.

It was clear the princess wasn't immune to his teasing and prodding as Victoria hesitated. "Is there not a doctor who could do it instead?"

"Of course not!" he laughed, as though the very notion was outrageous. And, really, it was. "I've never the need for one myself. But, should you want me to call for one, I suppose that could be arranged; they ought to be here by dawn. Do you think you'll manage that long, princess?"

The question was not meant to be answered and it was devastatingly good fun to watch the princess mentally argue with herself. She watched him, the way she narrowed her eyes and her expression almost painfully like her father's. Reaver could practically hear the wheels in her head turn while she evaluated him as Sparrow once had. After a long second, her throat worked and she released his wrist with a nod.

Smirk widening, he adjusted his grip on the cloth and pushed up the left side of her skirt.

The bullet wound was on the side of her leg; it had been a feat for him, having to catch even with her before pulling the trigger, but it was a blessing in disguise since pulling a bullet out of the back of her leg would have been all the worse. The little hole was grisly, yes, the flesh torn and ragged. But Reaver had seen, and inflicted, much worse, and seeing a gunshot wound caused him about as much discomfort as seeing a paper cut; that is to say: none.

The princess flinched when he drew a cloth over the wound to mop the blood up from his line of sight. Reaver felt a surge of cynicism at that and picked up the knife. If _this_ hurt she was going to _loathe_ what happened next.

Digging out a bullet wasn't as easy as one might think, and Reaver knew from extensive personal experience it could be extremely tricky. Nearly losing the bullet, he shed his coat and braced her leg with the hand not holding the knife. It took a moment to find the bullet again before he slowly inserted the knife and began extracting the annoying bit of metal.

Victoria's face contorted in pain and Reaver had to put more weight into keeping her from moving as she tried to writhe away from him. She didn't scream or curse, though, instead biting her lip so she didn't elicit more than a low, pained, slightly erotic groan. Reaver kept his grip on her, working as quickly as he could and not bothering with being gentle. At least she wasn't trying to kick him. Blood was flowing freely again; it pooled on the table and stained skin red.

And then the bullet was out.

It clattered down onto the table, the knife joining it soon after. The tiny bottle of scarlet healing potion was pressed into Victoria's hands. She barely hesitated to drink it.

The wound healed and they stayed as they were; Reaver with a hand on the princess's thigh, and her looking as though too much had happened for her to process. He was watching her. He waited a second, judging, calculating, and, as effortlessly as the flow of the tide, he leaned in.

Gently, gently, his lips brushed hers.

Victoria placed a hand on his chest...and the next thing Reaver knew, the crackle of electricity filled the air and a sharp shock of Will jolted through his body. Though it was clearly meant to be a warning, the spell still caused him to step back slightly. The last of the lightning died around the princess's hands and she eyed him with disgust.

Reaver was more inclined to sarcasm. "I _thought_ I felt a spark between us."

"Try that again, and you'll be feeling much worse."

He raised an eyebrow, mock-pouting at her. "Come now. Do you _really_ expect me to receive _nothing_ for that feat?"

"Hmm," she murmured, mock-thoughtful as she hopped down from the table. "Yes, I do. How do they say it? Oh, right: you can't be the hero _and_ the villain, my _dear_ Reaver, and still expect everyone to fall down and adore you."

Victoria was headed for the door, confident and proud despite having been shot and not having the upper hand in the situation. It was clear, to him, that she thought this was a game she could win. Wasn't _that_ interesting.

"And what if I don't want your..._adoration_, princess? Say I only want your gratitude? What then?" Reaver inquired. His eyes were half-lidded, hiding his emotions from her view, but his voice was heavy with amusement.

And the princess laughed. At him. Truly and joyfully _laughed_ as though he'd just made the most wonderful pun. She paused at the door and smiled sweetly at him. "Don't hold your breath."

* * *

Victoria was ashamed to admit she'd gotten hopelessly _lost_ in Reaver's mansion. And, while it wasn't a surprise—the place looked nearly _palatial_ as they'd rode up—it was still embarrassing. She supposed, though, that it was some sort of weird cosmic retribution for fleeing the kitchen blindly, without any information from her...uh..._fiancé_.

She met no one as she wandered the halls, and, while that was strange to her, that was nothing compared to the oddity that was the mansion itself. It was clear they were in the midst of moving things in as the decorations were...lacking. There were no paintings on the walls, nor ornaments to be found on tables, and an extremely small number of sculptures scattered about. Even the furniture, grand and comfortable-looking as it was, grew scarcer and scarcer as she walked.

And there was something...off about the place. Creepy, even. Victoria's footsteps echoed hollowly as she walked through the dimly lit halls. Coming to a cross roads, she turned a corner. Still, she'd yet to run into anyone. There was an almost lonely and despairing feeling in the air that Victoria found to be nearly tangible. She felt like she was walking through a crypt.

Frowning, the princess stopped. This hallway looked familiar, _but_ she could have _sworn_ that candelabra was in the wrong place. She sighed. "Now I _really_ need a map."

"_What do you think you're doing_?!" a voice called in outrage.

Victoria whirled around. "I-I-I—" Finally taking in the sight of the person yelling at her, she blinked in confusion. "...Pardon?"

The girl standing but a few feet from her wasn't looking at Victoria's face...but at her _feet_. She was indignant as she echoed, "Pardon? _Pardon?!_ You're mucking up the place! Tracking dirt everywhere, you great idiot!" Her eyes narrowed as she eyed the blood on Victoria's leg. "Blood, too! Do you know how much blood I have to clean from the carpets on a _weekly bloody basis_ without _you_ adding to it?!"

Whom-ever-she-was didn't bother to listen to Victoria's hurried apologies as she turned on her heel to storm off.

Seeing her only hope of becoming un-lost walking away, Victoria leapt forward and grabbed the other girl's wrist. "Wait!"

"What?" she replied flatly, clearly angry as she turned.

Victoria glanced over her quickly, ascertaining that, if her wardrobe was any indication, she was a maid; tiny, probably only fifteen or sixteen. Maybe younger. The princess blushed. "Look. I'm sorry about the mess; if I knew anything about cleaning, I'd offer to help. But I'm lost. Really. I didn't exactly wait around for Reaver to tell me where my things are. I could—I mean, would you be willing to assist me?"

The maid looked stunned, almost as if she'd been slapped, and was eying Victoria with a nervous expression as though she'd just realized something rather awful. "You're—you're a guest of the master's?"

"Technically? I...yes," Victoria admitted wryly. "I'm Victoria."

Instead of replying, the maid frantically tried to pull away. "I-I really-I need to—"

"Please; calm down. Just...please help me? No harm will come to you, I swear it. If you want, I will never tell a soul. Any _issues_ Reaver may have about this, he can take up with _me_. Will you help me?"

After a long moment, the girl nodded and began leading the way. And Victoria truly was grateful. She also wanted to know why the maid had had such a violent reaction to her. Was she missing something?

Try as she might, Victoria could get very little out of the girl. The maid had told her to keep to the front of the mansion where most of the living things were to keep from getting lost, but, when the princess attempted to get her to open up further, she was met with a polite but resolute statement that it wasn't the maid's place to speak to her. Victoria puzzled over that as she was led back into the populated part of the mansion and up the wide staircase.

They passed an inordinate amount of doors and rooms and Victoria couldn't even _begin_ to fathom creating a mental map of the place. _What sort of man,_ she wondered, _required so much room_ just _for himself?_ She didn't think she could stand living so alone in such a large place. It would be depressing. A constant reminder of all she _didn't_ have.

The maid led her down a somewhat narrower hallway to a pair of grand, double doors, and bowed her in.

"There's a bath, two doors down," the girl murmured awkwardly, wringing her hands and staring at the rugs. "You need one, I'd think."

And, before Victoria could thank her, she was gone.

_Well...that was_ odd. _Very odd_. There was no way about it, and, thoroughly flummoxed, the girl made her way deeper into the lavish room.

The bedroom she'd entered had to be the most lived-in room she'd come across thus far; that combined with the fact that the room was so large she would bet it was the master bedroom made her uncomfortable. She didn't think she wanted to know why, of all rooms, her belongings were here.

Though, as she retrieved a change of clothes, she did wonder where Nero had run off to. She hadn't seen him since her botched escape attempt, and she hoped he'd not run off and gotten eaten by a hobbe. That would probably have been more than even she could handle.

Victoria lingered in the bath longer than necessary when she finally found it and got in, planning her next move. Obviously, running was out. And, though she was certain she had one ace up her sleeve, the princess wished she knew how she'd used Will on Reaver without her gauntlets. It could prove very valuable if only she could figure out _how_. In reality, she needed a legal way out of the engagement and a way to get Reaver either off her back or on her side. She doubted that would happen. And so Victoria remained in the tub, pondering everything, until the water went cold.

Nero was waiting for her outside the bathroom when she was done dressing. The collie panted at her, giving a doggy grin when Victoria patted his head. He kept pace with her as the princess returned to the bedroom, needlessly balling up her cloak secretively before making sure none of her things had been moved and shutting it away in her trunk. The latch clicked with finality as she locked it.

"You finally found your way back, I see."

Victoria jumped, not having heard anyone come in after her, and whirled around.

"Bravo," Reaver added, entirely unrepentant. The comment was concluded with a bit of sarcastic applause that raised Victoria's metaphorical hackles.

"Is there a way you could possibly _not_ sneak up on me?" the princess ground out, annoyed.

"And miss the lovely shade of red you are whenever I do? Where would be the fun in _that_?"

_Well, excuse my impertinence for asking a question_, Victoria thought, blushing all the more brightly at his remark. Reaver had sat himself on the edge of the bed and Victoria was reminded of a question she'd had previously. "Reaver? This..._is_ your bedroom, is it not?"

"Yes; yes, it is, princess."

He was smirking at her and Victoria's expression turned grim as unease gripped her stomach. "I thought so. _Why_, exactly, are _my_ things in _your_ bedroom?"

"Where else would you have me put them? The hall? It might be a tad awkward for _you_, getting dressed out there, don't you think? _Drafty_, too."

"Uh, no. I'd rather have them wherever I'll be sleeping, if you don't mind." She hesitated. "Where will I be sleeping?"

"Here, of course." He gestured to the room at large before adding slyly, "Did I not mention that before?" His smug expression said he knew perfectly well he never had and he was quite enjoying the princess's anxiety.

"You know _damn well_ you didn't," Victoria muttered, glowering at Reaver. She stopped, eyes going wide as something occurred to her. "Wait...if _I'm_ sleeping _here_, where will you...?" She broke off. Reaver was giving her that look again, the one that said '_your stunning display of ignorance is amusing me, so, by all means, please continue_'. And then everything made a lot more sense. "No! No, no, no, no, no! No. I'm not-I-I _refuse_ to sleep with you! In _any_ capacity."

"Again, what would you have me _do_, highness? You've already proven yourself _quite_ the little escape artist. Just imagine how _angry_ our _beloved_ king would be, finding his little sister gallivanted off in the middle of the night. I couldn't have that now, could I?" Reaver was laughing at her; even though it wasn't out loud, it was still obvious.

Victoria had no sympathy for what Logan would do to Reaver should she run away, and she struggled to contain her temper. "_I am your princess_, the _least_ you could do is afford me a bit of _privacy_!"

"_My_ princess?" he echoed. "Really? Well, if I had known that sooner-"

"I am _not_ in the mood to put up with you right now," Victoria snapped, cutting him off and storming from the room with Nero on her heels.

She hoped someone put a bullet in that man. Better yet, she hoped she was there to see it.

* * *

"Smug, sarcastic, arrogant, pain in the—"

Victoria paced the room she'd hidden and locked herself in, furiously muttering insults under her breath all the while. Judging by the sheer amount of dusty books lining the walls, it was safe to assume the room was a library. It was also safe to assume the room was seldom-used. Which was perfect for her, in all reality.

She could not _believe_ his audacity. Couldn't believe he could make such an assumption about her or their relationship. With the way he was acting, one might believe she was some—some common tart! It was terrible! It was disrespectful! And yet...a part of her was unsurprised.

While she didn't find him attractive in any common sense (his height was too intimidating and his angular face, high cheekbones and heart tattoo aside, was too long and thin; there was also something oddly feminine in the way he carried himself), there _was_ something strangely beautiful about him that made him almost angelic...at least until he opened his mouth and the image was ruined. She was sure he usually had admirers _throwing_ themselves at him, so, to him, for her to resist him was unthinkable. For her to have never once considered sleeping with him: the worst offense. A huge embarrassment. An even larger challenge and annoyance. How could he have resisted attempting to tempt her?

That didn't mean she wasn't furious about it and it certainly didn't mean that Reaver's "request" wasn't the most sexist thing she had ever heard. She couldn't stand the thought of being in his home _and_ in his bed. She needed to get away. She _needed_ to end this engagement. Victoria didn't think it was going to be as easy as it sounded.

Nero sat in a moth-eaten armchair, tail thumping tentatively as he watched his mistress's furious pacing. He shivered, unconsciously feeding off Victoria's anxiety.

Victoria didn't know how long she paced, just that the hours passed at a crawl. A dull lethargy crept up over her. Her thoughts chased themselves around and around like Nero after his tail. The world outside the windows slowly turned from dusky blue to solid black. The library's lamps were almost entirely burnt out. She was exhausted, she knew it, but she wasn't ready to bite the bullet and face the devil she was now living with.

And yet she knew, if she didn't, he would probably hunt her down and drag her to bed.

The bastard.

Once again cursing Reaver's very existence under her breath, she attempted her way back to 'their' bedroom. Running off may not have been very intelligent or very mature, but it _had_ helped her figure some things out. She wasn't as confident as she would have liked to be, but at least Victoria had a plan now...or five.

When she finally found the room again, she didn't bother knocking; meekly pushing the door open. She wasn't alone when she entered the room, but she kept her head down as she hurried over to her trunk. Nero hopped onto a couch, sniffing the unfamiliar fabric with curiosity as Victoria grabbed her chemise and dressing gown and ducked behind an exotic folding screen.

Uncomfortably slow, she slid her dress off. This was so weird, like dressing with an audience. She hurried to pull on her chemise and then quickly yanked on her dressing gown. She paused before letting her hair down and, dirty clothes in hand, walked out from behind the screen.

Her heart seemed to stop when her eyes fell on Reaver.

He was waiting for her in bed, not a scrap of clothing covering his bare upper body. His blankets were low about his waist, so low she began to wonder if _anything else_ was bare. Victoria could barely hide her blushing but, thankfully, managed to hide her shock.

Smoothing her expression into one of cool disinterest, she raised an eyebrow at the smug man. "I hope you realize," she began tartly, "that, should you _happen_ to be nude under there, I will most certainly _not_ be joining you."

Reaver laughed. "Nervous, are you, dear? Why not come and check?"

Victoria scowled at him. She finally moved away from the screen to where Nero lay on the couch and rubbed his ears. "Come on, Nero, let's go to bed."

"Where do you think you are going with _that_?" Reaver inquired when she made for the bed with Nero at her heels.

She paused at the sudden sobriety in his tone, feeling puzzled. "Nero always sleeps beside me."

"I care not for what he 'usually' does. I _will not_ allow a _dog_ in my bed."

"Then why are you in it?" Met with a bored silence, Victoria added, "If it bothers you _that much_, then let me have a room of my own. I _know_ you've more than plenty to spare."

"Ha! Hardly. Now, now, dear; don't be petulant. Leave the dog and come to bed."

The princess stared at him as though she would much like to hit him. When Reaver appeared unthreatened, Victoria spun around and ushered Nero back onto the couch. She retrieved her cloak and drew it around him, whispering none-too-quietly, "Bite him while he's sleeping."

Nero stared blankly and lovingly at her and thumped his tail a couple times. Victoria simply sighed. _So, I suppose, _that_ won't be happening_, she thought, shaking her head as she finished tucking him in.

She stood and turned, wiping her expression blank in the same moment. Something about Reaver's expression dared her to make good on her order to Nero, and the princess allowed a tiny frown as he, _invitingly_, beckoned her over.

Victoria considered, for a split second, leaving the room. But then a hundred rumors of lecherous, cruel, and otherwise deviant things she'd heard he'd done from Resistance members came to mind, and she had a feeling he'd not be adverse to dragging her back by her hair, if he had to, and binding her to the bed. In fact, she was sure he'd enjoy it. Still affecting impassiveness, she got into bed as far over from him as she could. "I hate you."

He blew out the candle, bathing the room in darkness. "I'm _flattered_ you think so highly of me. _Good night_, princess."

"Mm-hmm." _Shut up, Reaver_.

She rolled over onto her side as she normally did, and felt the bed shift slightly as Reaver too settled down. Victoria tried to put as much of a distance between them as she could without falling off the bed...which would have been embarrassing. Though, she did have to admit, it was difficult not to just melt into the bed; it was _that_ soft. She was sure that, even before becoming a Hero and getting used to sleeping in inns and on bedrolls, she'd never slept in anything so comfortable. Victoria had to hold in a sigh of contentment and pleasure upon remembering where she was.

Down, silk, and satin caressed her, but Victoria couldn't sleep. She just lay there, thinking over all she had done and all she had yet to do. And, as she plotted the murder of the man on the other side of the bed from her, she wondered what her father would have said. It was more obvious what her mother, cold woman of action that she was, would have said; she would have just given her a flat look and told her to get on with it and to be ready to face the consequences. Her father? She hadn't a damn clue.

Her thoughts unwound as she lay there; soft, even breathing the only sound in the room. She stared at the darkness-shrouded canopy of the bed. Time ticked by and it was sometime between two and three in the morning that Victoria simply couldn't take _lying there_ any longer.

With stealth born of constant Skill-usage, she crawled out of the bed without a sound and without shaking the bed.

Victoria used the ghostly light of the moon to help guide her around the bed without doing something stupid...like bumping into the frame. She crept forward, hand sliding into her chemise's pocket to grip the gun there. In the commotion she'd caused after Reaver had shot her, the guard that had helped her onto the horse only a few hours previous had never felt her lift his pistol from his holster. While unfamiliar and clunkier than she was used to, the grip was comforting as she removed it.

Reaver looked deceptively peaceful as he slept. Victoria watched him for a moment, hesitating for the first time. What did she think she was doing? _He deserves it!_ a dark part of her mind insisted. _He kills on a whim. He's a criminal!_ Alright, so he deserved to be jailed, but did that really mean he deserved a bullet in his brain? _Yes_, the little voice said feebly. _I think so._ But the voice was getting quieter and was quickly fading as she simply stood there with the gun aimed straight at Reaver's face.

She found she couldn't move to shoot. And then she realized her father would have told her not to do it.

"I can't do it," she whispered, startling herself with the sound of her own voice. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer...what kind of Hero was she if she couldn't kill a single man who was responsible for some truly monstrous deeds?

"_I_ can," Reaver said, startling her further, especially when he leveled his own pistol at her.

Defensively, Victoria brought up her pilfered gun. But, internally, she was shaking. He'd been...faking? Pretending he was asleep, when, really, he was awake and ready to shoot her should she have tried anything? Had he somehow known what she had planned? Was she _that_ predictable? Or was he just _that_ light of a sleeper? The surprise faded from Victoria's face as they watched each other; measuring the sureness of the other's grip, their comfort with the weapon at hand, and their confidence at making the shot before the other. The princess admitted to herself that, though she was confident about her accuracy, she doubted she was the faster.

"You knew," she murmured. She wasn't asking.

"Of course. Did you _really_ think anything occurred in my home without my knowledge?"

He sounded chiding and Victoria bristled. "I am _not_ a fool, Reaver. This is a war...you've just picked the wrong side. Did _you_ really think I wouldn't attempt anything?"

"Don't speak to me of war, _princess_." Reaver's expression was lost in darkness, but Victoria thought, by his tone, he was mocking her. "This dispute between your brother and yourself is nothing more than a petty sibling rivalry. Hardly a war. Hardly worth the time and effort."

He struck a nerve. Victoria pulled the trigger. It clicked uselessly. The princess blinked at the gun, perplexed. She'd checked it before getting into the bath and it had been loaded...where had the damn bullets gone?

"Apparently I underestimated you," Reaver continued, and Victoria could _hear_ the smirk in his voice. "You _are_ capable of gunning someone down in cold blood. Or, at the very least, attempting to. Next time, perhaps you might check and see that it is, in fact, _loaded_. Still...good try on your part."

The sarcastically patronizing tone made her grit her teeth as she realized she'd played right into his hand. She hated being had and wondered how he'd known she'd stolen the gun. And how he had known just what to say to get her to pull the trigger. "I _loathe_ you."

"I know, dear. Now, give me the gun."

Victoria hesitated. He could shoot her at any time and she knew it. "I know you're a better shot than me; do you think I would remain trapped here _and_ give you my only, useless as it is, weapon?"

"Trapped?" he echoed, raising a brow at her despite visibility in the room being spotty. "Have I shackled you? Placed you in a cage? The front door is _open_; you need only to walk out it. And know that once you do, not only will Logan be after you, but you will have the Resistance tailing you, as well. After all, I'm sure they were less than happy at the news of our little engagement." Victoria had made no move for the door, and he made as if to wave her away. "Well, go on. Tatty bye. I'll wish you the _best_ of luck."

Victoria didn't move. Page's face had come to mind, twisted with the same rage and disgust she'd often displayed toward Logan and Reaver, but this time her ire was directed at Victoria. How had she forgotten to consider how the Resistance would react? How was she going to go back to them?

"Staying, then?" Reaver said, having already known how the princess would react to his jibes. "Good. Now: the gun, if you please."

She looked down at the pistol in her slack-gripped hand. She considered it for a second, knowing Reaver's patience with her was nearing its end, and she handed it over. He took the pistol with his free hand and dropped if on the bedside table; the guard who had lost it would _not_ be having a pleasant day when morning came.

"This doesn't mean I won't try to kill you again," Victoria insisted.

"Oh, of course not," Reaver allowed, finally uncocking and lowering his own pistol. "Now, come along to bed, princess. It _is_ a bit late for death threats, perhaps you should wait for the morning."

Sarcasm duly noted, Victoria hesitated once more. She then, slowly and slightly unsteadily, made her way back to her side of the bed. In that moment, Victoria felt resigned to fate.

But she wasn't done fighting yet.

* * *

**AN:** I was going to make a joke about playing doctor, but I decided not to. Hehe. You know...I have a feeling Victoria gets a little too creative with her insults, but not creative enough with her plans of attack. Really? Shoot him in his sleep? He's too much of a sneaky bastard for that! And I just realized the unintentional fanservice in this chapter... Aaaaaanywho. I contemplated not posting this week; my pet rabbit's been really under the weather for a while, and he's getting quite old, so I've been really worried he might be dying. Thankfully, he's doing a bit better, so I decided to post this. I hope all of you are doing well and that you enjoyed the chapter. Cheers until next week. Please send reviews. ^^

**Dev Notes:** For those that don't know, this fic was originally inspired by a fairytale, but it also has quite a few influences from other stories, for instance, The Divine Comedy. This chapter's title is proof. The City of Dis resides in the sixth circle of the inferno, and is made entirely of sepulchers; the city contains the heresiarchs-leaders of heretical sects. Perhaps it's subtle foreshadowing, perhaps it's just kinda catchy, I'm not sayin'.

* * *

**Anonymous Review Replies:**

_Nicole:_ Oh! Wow, that's truly the nicest thing you could ever say about me as a writer. Thank you so much. I'm glad you like my story; I hope this update is soon enough for you. =)


	6. Play Dead

_"This story's missing a wishing well._  
_No mirror to show and tell; no kiss that can break the spell._  
_I'm falling asleep._  
_Every prince is a fantasy, the witch is inside of me—_  
_Her poison will wash away the memory._  
_We kill the lights and put on a show. It's all a lie but you'd never know."_  
_~The Birthday Massacre (Kill The Lights)_

* * *

**Six:  
Play Dead**

"Reaver? _Reaver._"

It was happening again; he was thrashing in his sleep. It was pretty normal, though, and Victoria knew just how to stop it. She knew he wasn't so deeply asleep that she'd struggle to wake him, as was often the case when he spoke in his sleep, and, expression grim and tired, she shook him slightly. As with every time before, she watched his dark eyes snap open; chaotic emotions and thoughts swirling there for a split second before awareness and recognition came over him and Reaver's gaze went almost emotionlessly blank. Morning ritual having now been begun, and taking that as her cue to leave him alone, Victoria got out of bed and went to get dressed without another word.

It had been four weeks since she'd been sent to live with him. Four _very long_ weeks in which Victoria had had a crash course in the dos-and-don'ts of life with Reaver and they had both begun to figure out how to deal with each other. Victoria wasn't certain what Reaver's plan for dealing with her was, but she knew hers well enough. Her mother had always told her that a good woman was submissive to both the men in her family and her husband. Victoria had never agreed with her mother on a woman's duties, but, when fighting had failed, she'd tried it. And, like a cat with a dead mouse, she watched as Reaver grew confused then annoyed and, finally, bored of her. The only times he showed interest were the times he did _something_ that no amount of submission or passive aggressive behavior could keep her calm for. The times when her temper flared up brighter than ever. Otherwise...she simply played dead.

When Reaver was around.

Victoria paused in her dressing, hearing the bedroom door first open and then close. She waited a moment, listening to the sound of departing steps. Satisfied that only she and Nero remained in the room, she resumed pulling on the blue-and-white fabric of her dress. She allowed a slight smile to cross her scarred face.

If she was honest, and she almost always was, both the Resistance and the engagement were wearing on her mind. She hoped Reaver didn't know his mansion was helping her find answers to both. When she wasn't keeping an eye out for things Reaver was up to that Page would probably want to know, she spent a lot of time in the library, struggling to find information when all of the books within it had been put away without any kind of order.

She'd also been testing what Reaver had told her about the front door being open to her. As it turned out, he hadn't been lying. No one stopped her when she left the house (though the guards did _encourage_ her to return if she stepped too close to the gates). And this turned out to be a blessing, instead of a constant reminder of her situation. Victoria found refuge in the back garden amidst the strange and, upon closer inspection, _poisonous_ plants. No one ever seemed to go back there, so, under the shade of old trees and the high stone fence, she was free to practice Will without prying eyes.

Apple-sized balls of fire, thin, spindly arcs of lightning, and tiny, singular blades or icicles were nothing to boast about, but, for someone who had never controlled Will without a gauntlet, Victoria was still proud of them.

Victoria tied the last tie on her dress and pulled her hair out of her face. She was trying to be optimistic—a situation was what you made of it, right?—but it wasn't easy. Calling Nero to her, she started for the door, planning her day. Yes, she was being as optimistic as she could, and, yes, she was playing dead...but that didn't mean she was going to be a fool about it.

* * *

He was bored; painfully, annoyingly _bored_. His feet rested on his desk and he turned his gaze from the dark-paneled walls to watch the firelight reflect off the heavily shined leather of his boots. He was supposed to have met with a client but they had cancelled on him. The third one that week alone. Reaver knew why. _Son petit princesse_ was bad for business. Such trouble. He wished he could say he _enjoyed_ it.

The princess was playing her little games, though, and Reaver thought he was displaying an extraordinary amount of patience with the frigid girl. He'd expected her to be such _fun_, what with her marvelous temper and that little attempt on his life. So sad that, instead, she'd gone from hot to cold so soon. And, while her tricks still didn't fool him in the least, her behavior had grown tiresome (especially the way she seemed to think he was oblivious to things that went on in his own home). The only fun she was anymore was when he poked holes in her façade; her temper would flare for just a moment, burning in her brown eyes that seemed to _scream_ all the nasty little things she'd like to do to him.

Though the times she walked in on him in various compromising positions with an even larger variety of 'friends' was, admittedly, fun too; though not as much fun as the very first time (Reaver recalled a lot of screaming and blushing on the princess's behalf and a lot of general confusion as he'd barely refrained from lapsing into hysterical laughter). Strange, virginal girl. One would think she'd never seen two men—actually, Reaver retracted that statement; the little princess probably _hadn't_.

But he was digressing.

Reaver contemplatively brushed a barely-visible speck of dust from his boots. He needed to convince his clients that the princess was as harmless as she looked (not that she was, but that didn't matter). After all, they couldn't expect _him_ to continue to go to _them_. That would just be contemptible. He definitely needed to calm the peons.

Well…there was always his _usual_ way. Reaver chuckled to himself. The princess would _hate_ him for it. Naturally, that made his idea perfect. Who knew? With one little idea, perhaps he could reassure those who had invested in him _and_ make the princess so angry she might be willing to try _other_ means of _venting her anger_. Well, at the very least, he could dream.

Reaver gracefully got up from his desk to rummage for a drink. By the time this was over, he was going to need at least a couple more bottles. Still, no risk, no reward. _Now, why don't we start this show?_

* * *

Snow crunched under Victoria's boots as she walked, small flakes of white fell from the lead-coloured sky to cling to her hair and cloak. It was so very beautiful...and so extremely fickle. The day had passed faster than she had expected, and walking the snow-covered grounds was peaceful...namely because she has the urge to set someone on fire.

Nero, however, was oblivious to his mistress's urges and ran about with a child-like joy, occasionally crashing into the small snow banks.

For once, Victoria did not smile at her dog's antics. In her clenched fist she held a letter from her brother. Oh yes, he was _very_ pleased she was refraining from any 'distasteful behavior' during this courting period; never mind that she had all but _begged_ him to end the engagement, to send her away, to do _something_. Her pleas had fallen, once again, on deaf ears. At least she knew where she stood in the equation.

Feeling like a trinket to be bought and sold, her mood was foul as she approached the mansion. All she wanted was a hot bath and a nice long chance to sulk before having to play nice for dinner. However, as she made her way to the front door, the princess became aware of a trickle of people entering and exiting the mansion. Servants? It looked like it. Instinct pricked uneasily at her senses and she picked up the pace.

They were unloading things from a cart: all manner of odd barrels and strange crates. Victoria slowed as she neared them, trying not to appear too concerned, should Reaver be watching, and trying to balance out her curiosity. As usual, the servants regarded her with odd, nervous looks and silence as she passed, but they let her enter without comment.

Reaver stood off to the side with the attitude of a taskmaster. His smirk grew when Victoria stepped up to him, making no move to hide her foul mood. "_Good evening_, princess. You've finally decided to join us, I see."

Victoria was unamused. "I'm _really_ not in the mood for this, Reaver. What is going on?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, _ma belle_. Certainly nothing to _concern_ yourself with," Reaver replied dismissively. He was trying to catch her interest and, unfortunately, it was working.

"_Really_?" Victoria shot back. Her tone saccharine sweet, she continued after a beat, "Then allow me to rephrase: what are _you_ up to?"

Reaver gave her a Cheshire smile as he leaned heavily on his jewel-topped walking stick. "I am 'up to' nothing, dear. However, _we_ do have matters to attend to."

"And what are 'we' meant to be doing?" _Do his games _never_ end?_

"We're hosting a party."

"A party?" the princess echoed. She closed her eyes as if it would calm her. Avo, save her and grant her patience; she was going to need it. Mask of submission thoroughly crumbling, she opened her eyes and all but growled, "_Of course_ it's a party."

She _really_ was beginning to loathe parties and the men that hosted them.

* * *

**AN:** Heh, poor Victoria; I torture her. This chapter is so..._boring_ after the last one. No naughtiness, so explosions, no action of any kind. I always forget this chapter exists. ._. Maybe it's the calm before the storm? I dunno. How about you guys tell me what you think it is? *hinthint* Thank you for all of your kind words thus far. =) Your reviews really keep me going. See y'all next week.

**Dev. Notes:** Um...huh...this chapter's too short to have notes. Let's see what I've got on reserve... *rummages through notes* Hmm...nope. No. Ew, definitely no. Nope. Ooooh, I forgot about that one. Eh...nyeh. Nuh-uh. Not a chance. That would work better with another chapter. Uuuuuuhhhhh...here's one! Nero. Let's chat about Nero. So, as both a dog-lover and a dog-owner, I kinda did what a lot of dog owners do and I based him off my own dog (despite that she's tiny and people keep thinking she's a Chihuahua when she's not...). So...go back a few years ago, when I was oblivious to Fable having progressed beyond TLC, my dear friend Claire introduced me to a not-so-little series called Devil May Cry (any of you heard of it?). The fourth game's protagonist is called Nero, as well, and my dog kinda...perked up and got all excited whenever we said the name. Still no clue why. Naturally, when I played FIII, I decided to name my dog Nero for her. I debated changing it for this story, but...to be honest, if you look up the Roman Emperor Nero, it kinda works...

* * *

**Anon. Review Replies:**

_Ding:_ Thank you! ^^ I'm glad you're enjoying it. I hope this update's soon enough for you. =)


	7. Walking With Strangers

_"And boys are so cold, they speak without meaning; the only time they talk is in their sleep._  
_And girls are a bore, their touch without feeling; their secrets always far too grim to keep._  
_And up until now, you've lived in their shadows trying hard to please them,_  
_But they'll never change as long as they're breathing."_  
_~The Birthday Massacre (Play Dead)_

* * *

**Seven:**  
**Walking With Strangers**

Fingers tangled in her hair, seductively slow at first and then almost harshly. Victoria gasped in surprise, breath catching a moment as her hair was lifted over her shoulders. The fingers unwove themselves from her hair, trailed slowly down her spine, and busied themselves with her corset. She grimaced at Reaver in the mirror. "Don't say I'm being difficult. I'm _not_."

"Of course, you're not," he agreed, his high-bred tone boredly sarcastic as he jerked her slightly in effort to tighten the corset laces. His fingers brushed against her with every movement and he could feel her shiver. Why she refused a maid's help was beyond him. Though this _did_ present a rather wonderful opportunity to touch and look without being condemned. Who would have ever thought that the naïve little princess had tattoos? "Which reminds me: since you are _not_ being difficult, _why_ are we continuing with this conversation?"

Victoria narrowed her eyes. There was no right answer to that. Crossing her arms, she murmured sulkily, "I _hate_ parties."

_"I _hate_ parties," Sparrow had sulked, crown slipping down slightly as he'd pouted. Though the royal ball had been in full swing, the king had hidden himself out of sight and attempted to keep his friend from changing that. "You're just going to drag me back, aren't you?"_

_"Only due to your _charming_ wife, I can assure you," Reaver had replied. "Come along, Sparrow dear; apparently the simpletons _need_ their king."_

_Translation: get off your lazy arse before the hellbeast you call a wife murders me, kicks you out of the bedroom, and feeds our corpses to the idiots known as the nobility of Albion._

_Sparrow had looked much like a pouting child as he'd gotten to his feet and sighed. "Very well, but I _still_ hate parties."_

"Reaver? Reaver?" Once more having gained the industrialist's attention, Victoria said confusedly, "Why did you stop?"

She hoped her voice wasn't _too_ enthusiastic.

In response, Reaver quickly cinched the corset tightly closed with a yank. The action snatched the air from the princess's lungs and the jerk of it nearly caused her to fall back into him. Her stumble drew a soft chuckle from the man.

Hand at her heart as though it would steady her, she gasped, "Too tight. It's _too tight_!"

"Can you breathe?" Reaver inquired, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he leaned forward to feel that the corset was lying flat. He was completely unconcerned. He _had_ done this before, after all.

"Barely," the princess hissed, glaring at Reaver's reflection.

Reaver pulled back, hand smoothing over her side as he did so. His fingers brushed against her breast as he straightened up, feigning obliviousness to her glares. "Then it's not too tight, is it?"

Victoria glowered at him the entire time he finished lacing her up. Her nerves were too wound up for her to be nice and she didn't trust herself to speak. When Reaver had finished, she moved away from the mirror to struggle with her boots and a buttonhook. She ignored a couple of japes aimed at her and, finishing with her boots, took a moment to sneak a look at the man dressing across from her as she absentmindedly spun the buttonhook.

He wasn't done yet, but, as she watched Reaver button his silk shirt, she thought his black attire brought out something…_darker_ in him. Something forbidden and somewhat alluring. He looked like a thief that had slipped in during the night. It was slightly disconcerting.

_You've ruined me._

Victoria hurriedly turned her back on him, stepping into her skirts. The heavy black fabric gently swept the floor as she buttoned it up and carefully pulled on her blood red bodice (taking only a second longer than usual to be mindful of the delicate ebony lace at her collar and sleeves). It was funny, she decided as she attached skirt to bodice and hid the ties by buttoning the bodice down with some "decorative" rubies, that she was so against this party and yet she went through all the motions so smoothly. Perhaps her body was simply betraying her.

She coiled her hair, being careful with the pins. She wasn't very good at the whole hair/jewelry ordeal. That was what she relied on Jasper for, after all. It took her longer than she was comfortable to admit and, when she was done, it was obvious she'd dressed herself. She bit her lip, feeling somewhat hesitant.

"Oh, princess?"

She paused mid-putting on an earring. "_What?_"

"You're not _really_ going to wear _those_ earrings with _that_ gown, are you?"

Victoria felt like she'd just walked into a brick wall. Great Avo, he was _not_ criticizing her jewelry. "Why? I _like_ them."

"They're abhorrently tacky and childishly unfashionable," Reaver retorted with a dissatisfied glance at the dangly bits of ruby and gold.

_Says the king of the gauche himself_, she thought snappishly. Saccharine sweet, Victoria said, "If you've a better idea, then, by all means, tell me it."

He strolled past her and, after a quick rummage through the little bag of jewelry, dropped something into her hand. They were surprisingly subtle. Thumbnail-sized black stones, highly polished to bring out the flecks of gold within. Lodestones. Awkwardly, the princess put them on. _Oh, wow._ She was surprised; instead of looking like a child playing dress up, the minute change made her…somewhat more sophisticated. Well. That was…_different_….

"There. You _almost_ look like a lady, now."

Victoria glanced over her shoulder to where Reaver was fastidiously working on tying his cravat. Rolling her eyes, she knocked his hands away to do it herself; the gesture secretly surprised them both with its odd familiarity. "Funny, because you _still_ don't look like a gentleman."

Though the words were said under her breath, she had the feeling Reaver heard her clearly.

Something about the situation felt normal, _familiar_, despite nothing about it being normal. She was saved from pondering over that paradox when she felt something brush against her thigh. Victoria paused when she looked down and her eyes fell on Reaver's holstered pistol. It was so _temptingly_ close, she almost wondered if he'd done it on purpose.

"Admiring my weapon?" Reaver purred smugly.

"No. Just considering how fast I would need to be to steal it and run."

"There's no need." When she raised a questioning brow at him, Reaver, meeting her eyes, continued, "No matter where you ran or how fast you went, I would find you. _No one_ steals from me without being punished for it."

Victoria blushed, couldn't help it. The way he'd said it…. She could tell he meant every word, but there wasn't just a sinister promise in his voice, there was also something heated and almost _carnal_ behind his words. She quickly tried to change the subject.

"I still don't see _why_ you need to bring a weapon to your own party."

"_I_ prefer to keep my weapon with me at all times. I never know when I might have to whip it out."

Victoria's blush deepened. "Can we have a single conversation without you making an innuendo?"

"Who ever said I was making an innuendo? My, what a _naughty_ mind you have, princess. I wonder if you'll allow me to put it to good use."

Reaver was grinning in earnest now and Victoria rolled her eyes, trying to hide both her blush and her small smile. "You're hopeless."

* * *

She felt like she was in a whirlwind of sound and colour. There were so many people, so much noise, Victoria was tempted to cling to Reaver to avoid being swept up in it all. Pride, however, dictated she didn't do so.

All Victoria was aware of was that at first there had been a lot of bowing and curtsying and "how do you dos?" And then there had been a lot of talking. Reaver's so-called "friends" (for no _real_ friends would have ever warranted the amount of mockery in his voice at the word) put her on edge. They were nosey, overly-flattering, and something about the way they watched her made her feel as if they were wolves descending upon her. They were like a parody of human life; a fantastical, corrupted burlesque of what reality was really like. It was both disgusting and intoxicating.

She knew why though. Why they paid such close attention to her and Reaver, to every detail of their interactions. She'd seen it with her mother and father before. It was a test. And, though the test was of Reaver's own doing, it was still very real. Victoria could feel the weight of their questions pressing down on her. She knew the nobles were dying to know if the relationship of the princess (the little Hero who ran to everyone's aid, who gave away her wealth freely; who could even convince the bandit leader to stop harming others!) and the deviant (who thrived on debauchery and to whom everyday, and everyone, was a new conquest) would end as a fairytale or a flop they could laugh over later. Suddenly, Victoria found appreciation for all the etiquette lessons she'd ever unwillingly had; she might not have respected her so-called fiancé, but she could damn well pretend.

Still, Victoria felt rather like a toy being passed around. She danced with men she'd never danced with, or even spoken to, before. Chatted with women who spoke sweetly but whose sharp eyes found everything from her self-styled hair to the amount of shoe her dress showed distasteful. She declined an inordinate amount of drinks before she eventually had to excuse herself.

It was so unlike any party she'd ever been to: so full of energy it made her uncomfortable. And yet…something was bothering her. When she and Elliot had attended balls together, they had spent most of their time together, talking and dancing with few others. She had not yet danced once with Reaver or even talked to him outside of a group. Once they had separated, that was that. And for some unknown, inane reason, it _bothered_ her.

"You look tired."

Victoria jumped and looked around to see who had intruded upon her hiding place, and blushed when she realized she'd actually intruded on someone else's privacy. "Beg pardon?"

The other girl grinned. "I said, 'you look tired.'" She took a dark cigarette from the curly-haired boy she was with, took a drag, then held it out to the princess. "Rowan, by the way. Want a taste?"

"No, thanks," Victoria replied awkwardly, sitting down near them when beckoned.

"I know who you are, you know," Rowan matter-of-factly added. "I know you don't like when people call you 'princess' because you think they only see you as your title. I know you don't like when people crowd you, and I know you're a Hero. And that you need to learn to take better care of your possessions."

Before Victoria could ask what she meant, Rowan tossed something small over. Her father's ring. Victoria's hand immediately flew to her neck. The chain that usually bore the ring was gone. Slightly panicky, she asked, "Where did you get this?"

Rowan raised an eyebrow at her urgency and brushed a bit of her dyed-black hair from her face. "_Relax_. The chain was nearly broken, so I grabbed it. You _really_ should keep a closer eye on things."

"You're a thief," the princess realized, amused in spite of herself. She slipped the ring onto her middle finger.

"Yep." Rowan nodded toward the door as the boy she'd been sitting with left through it. "They're all mad out there, eh?"

"Yes…yes, they are. How—how do you know so much about me?"

"Page told me some so I'd keep an eye out for you. And Kidd told me you helped rescue him from our _dear_ host; nice going on that, by the way."

Surprised, Victoria quickly glanced around the empty room and lowered her voice. "You know Page?"

"_Yeah_. See, I run away from my parents a lot; whenever the stress to be _perfect_ gets to be too much, actually. Page found me wandering in Bowerstone one night, took me in. She's lovely, really. When I told her who my family was…uh…acquaintances with, we agreed that a good way for me to repay her was for me to report back everything I hear. Not as easy as it sounds, actually." Rowan paused, then thoughtfully added, "Page'll have _kittens_ when she hears you're okay."

_That_ jolted Victoria out of her surprise. "You can't tell Page I'm here."

"Why not?"

Rowan was nearly pouting and Victoria was struck by the fact that, despite all her matter-of-factness, the other girl couldn't be older than fifteen. _She's too young to have to be a spy._ Victoria prayed to Avo that Reaver didn't know.

"Page might not…be the most accepting of the news."

Disbelief creased Rowan's young face. "I don't think—"

"Please, Rowan. I can't get out and I do _not_ want them to get false hope. _Please_. Will you do this for me?"

Rowan wrestled with it for a long moment before nodding shortly and saying with a groan, "Now I'm _really_ going to need a drink."

_You and me both._

It was both odd and pleasant to speak with Rowan; there was a strange comfort to speaking with someone with neither a side nor agenda. However, though it was easy for Victoria to open up to the younger girl, she had to still be cautious; reminding herself who Rowan's family was aligned with and that she was still young enough to be naïve about the world and was, therefore, most likely easily manipulated by the top-hat wearing deviant in the other room. They found a safe topic in travel; where they'd been, what they'd seen, where they wanted to go next. The South Islands. Mount Ruon. Samarkand. The Northern Wastes. Both of them being runners at heart, they lost themselves in dreams of far off places.

Hours passed, though it felt like mere minutes, and it wasn't until they heard a commotion outside the room they were in that they both froze. Questioning glances were exchanged as the outside chatter rose and fell. Approaching footsteps broke through their reverie and Rowan jolted as though burned.

"I wasn't supposed to be talking to you. I need to go," Rowan said quietly as she cast an anxious look at the door. However, instead of walking out, the little thief climbed out the open window and vanished into the night as if she'd never even been there.

Needless to say, Victoria was floored. She wondered what sort of logic dictated to climb out a ground floor window (in a _ballgown!_) instead of going out a door. _Thief_, she reminded herself. Victoria shook the confusion from her head and made her way out into the hall…

…and crashed into Reaver.

"Princess!" he exclaimed, catching her arm when she looked as if she might fall over.

"Something wrong?" Victoria fought down a bit of panic, wondering just how much, if any at all, Reaver heard. She didn't want Rowan to become a permanent member of a missing person's list because of her. _Great, more guilt_, her cynical side observed.

He raised an eyebrow at her as Victoria yanked her arm free from his grip. "And why would you think something was wrong? Guilty about something, _ma belle_?" When Victoria waved off the teasing questions, he added, "No, I merely wanted to find out where you'd secreted yourself. Can't have you running off now, can I?"

It was his carefree tone that gave Victoria pause. Taking in his lack of a sycophantic posse, she suddenly had a very bad feeling about everything.

"Something _is_ wrong," Victoria decided hesitantly, frowning at him. "You only bother to come looking for me when you want to gloat. What did you do _now_?"

There was something oddly maternal about her tone; like a mother trying to scold a child out of misbehaving. Or at least trying to get him to feel guilty about it. It didn't work, but it _did_ grant Reaver a measure of amusement from it. He mentally scoffed at her. _Children these days…._

"You worry too much, highness," he told her. But he seemed smug and no amount of flattery in Reaver's voice would calm her suspicions. "I merely wanted to invite you to join a little game of mine."

"A…game?" the princess echoed, puzzled. That had certainly not been on her list of expected replies. She decided to humor him. "A game…what _game_ is this?" Under her breath, she added, "I hope you're not laboring under the delusion I'm going to part with my clothing."

Strange as it sounded, she remembered more than a few comments of Reaver's that had insinuated just that. Her worry increased ten-fold when, apparently hearing her, he laughed at her.

"_My_, princess, nothing so radical! But if you insist…." He trailed off thoughtfully, then appeared to rouse himself. "Ah…no. No, it's something you should be _intimately_ familiar with; a real _riot_, I'll admit."

His words pulled on a memory. _The Wheel of Misfortune! It's rather simple. I spin, you die, we watch. Really! It's, it's a riot! _Victoria went pale, her eyes widened in muted horror. He couldn't _really_ mean _that_…could he?

"No," she breathed. Her heart pounded in her ears and, unable to do more than just stand there, she simply stared at him. "_No._ You _can't_…."

"I was a bit hesitant, myself; what with having such a terribly short amount of time to prepare…and none of your _charming_ Resistance members to join us."

"If you've harmed one of my friends, I _swear_ I'll—"

Reaver continued on, cutting her off with a dramatic sigh, as if she'd never spoken. "Still, the show must go on. No need to upset the peons, after all. Coming, dear?"

"You've got to stop it!" Victoria was well aware she was raging. Her fists were so tightly clenched her knuckles were white. Her body trembled with fury at the injustice of it all. For Avo's sake, this was _Albion_! Their country was modern and powerful. They weren't savages! They didn't just sit and _watch people get slaughtered!_

And yet…apparently they did. How _truly_ different was Reaver's "game" from the Crucible in Westcliff? Honor and dignity aside, of course. And what did it say about them in general if people in Reaver's graces came from far off to watch? _We're monsters._

Apparently Reaver didn't agree with her.

"No."

Those two little letters could have easily ended her. Instead, they made her fight harder. "I'm not asking you to _destroy_ it; just that you _stop playing_."

"To what point and purpose, hmm? To save a few miserable peasants' lives or to spite the wretched nobility? _Well_?"

"Because it's the _right thing to do_," Victoria spat, Reaver's patronizing tone grating on her nerves. "Because you _can't_ just do things like this to people!"

The look Reaver fixed her with suggested she was being very naïve. "I think you'll find, princess, that I _can_."

"Logan wouldn't approve."

"The King doesn't need to know."

_Well, _I_ don't approve._ Victoria, still shaking with rage, had to struggle to keep the words to herself. Why would he care if she approved? Better yet, why did _she_ care if he did? "Then _what_, pray tell, would I have to do—within reason—to get you to stop?"

Reaver's expression grew sly. He let moments just tick by as he leisurely looked her up and down; observing, calculating. Before meeting him, she couldn't remember ever having someone's attention so fully upon her before. It made her want to blush. It didn't help that, since she'd walked right into him before, they were still standing rather close together. Almost too close.

Victoria suddenly wished she were on the other side of the hall.

"You really want me to stop, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer. Much like the time in the kitchen, he gracefully, fluidly, leaned in…

…and Victoria quickly flung out her arm to get him to keep his distance. Her Will, charged with nervous and erratic energy, electrified the air around them. Her voice was but a whisper as she spoke, "I said, 'within reason'."

"I'm going to require a little _motivation_."

And, this time, the princess offered no resistance when he leaned in to kiss her. His lips met hers, soft and seductive at first until he forcefully deepened the kiss. Reaver dominated her. Masterfully, he angled her face up to give himself better access as he teased her lips apart.

_No!_ A punch of something hot and unfamiliar hit her gut. Her irritation heightened when she realized that this, her first ever kiss, was making her lose control; she could have simply melted in his arms. _I won't! I _refuse _to give in._

Her fingers clenched in the lapels of his coat and she yanked him closer, crushing her lips against his. She could _feel_ his surprise ripple through him, but she paid it little heed. A soft moan escaped her. Her kiss, inexperienced as it was, was greedy, and, at that moment, she didn't care that Reaver's free hand was slipping lower and lower on her curves as she pressed her body more fully against his.

Victoria bit his lip when Reaver tried to slip his tongue into her mouth, but the groan she received in return wasn't exactly pained. Their kiss grew urgent: lips moving against each other fervorently, hands traveling where, she was sure, they ought not have.

And, just as she was beginning to wonder if she _really_ cared what else happened between them in that little hallway, Victoria broke the kiss. She had to admit, she secretly found amusement in the fact that she'd then surprised Reaver twice in all of ten minutes.

She stared at the tiled floor as she caught her breath and tried to calm her heart. She couldn't help but feel simultaneously empowered and terrified. _What am I doing playing with fire?_

"There," she murmured, ignoring that she was flushed as she finally looked at Reaver. "You got what you wanted. Call it off."

A lock of her hair had fallen out of her up-do and Reaver carefully tucked it behind her ear as he leaned in. "Not worth it."

He took a step back, straightening his suit, his expression decidedly Machiavellian. Victoria could do little more than stare at him as if he'd just slapped her. That feeling of betrayal gave rise to her earlier fury; her Will charged the air further as her temper rose.

"_You demented son of a bitch!_" she fumed, barely able to keep from hitting him. "You were never intending to call it off, were you?"

Reaver, in contrast, was entirely unconcerned. Cheerful, even. "Not at all. Now, I _really_ must be off. People to entertain, you understand, princess. Ta!"

He began to saunter off, leaving Victoria spluttering with indignation. However, halfway down the hall, he turned back and added, "And for your earlier threat. 'Find a way to kill me', that's how you were going to end it, hmm? If I 'harmed' one of your troublesome little friends? Better than you have tried, _love_. Feel free to take your _very best_ shot. Good night."

He gave her a quick, mocking bow and was gone, leaving her speechless and infuriated. She didn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

All was right with the world. Or, at least, that was Reaver's mindset as he walked the now deserted halls of his mansion.

Things, truly, could not have gone any better…for the type of party they'd had, of course. He hummed a jaunty little tune as he walked. That little interim with the princess had been great fun, too. Dear girl was probably furious with him, but he truly didn't mind. She was _so_ much more interesting that way.

His boot heels clicked across the tiles. Where was she? The emptiness of the mansion was like a physical entity, crowding him all the while, but Reaver ignored it as he walked…just as he was trying to ignore the fact that he was looking for the princess. The strange girl had vanished without a trace and without rousing an alarm. A true mystery, to be sure. But she had to be found and now. Reaver mentally sighed. The girl was Sparrow's daughter, alright: _trouble_ in _every _regard.

Several empty rooms later, Reaver became aware of a low sound, lingering beneath his humming. Was someone…_singing?_ How strange. And they weren't doing it very well. He traced it to a door a couple halls down.

_"—pretty baby. She's long gone with her red shoes on, gon' need another lovin' baby—"_

The words washed over him, garnering very little reaction. He pushed the library door open.

"Hello," a tired voice greeted him. The princess didn't look at him as he leisurely came toward her. And, though Reaver expected (one might even say _hoped_ for) an explosion from her, he was sorely disappointed. Her eyes never left the fireplace.

"What a sorry sight this is," Reaver remarked, sitting in the armchair across from hers. He immediately noted the nearly empty decanter on the table beside her. Add that to the princess's odd behavior and…. "My dear, dear girl, I do believe you're _drunk_."

It would have been hilarious if it weren't so terribly _pitiful_. He'd thought her more mature, more _dull_, than that.

"I'm fine," she insisted, glowering at him with slightly unfocused brown eyes. Her words slurred slightly as she added, "'Cept when I'm _not_."

"So it would seem." It was an endeavor not to laugh at her.

She stared at the carpet and, broodingly, attempted to murmur, "It worked for falth…fad…_dad_."

"Yes…yes, it did," Reaver agreed under his breath, sounding almost thoughtful. He quickly weighed his options, finding it amusingly ironic that it was more dangerous for the princess to be wandering drunk and clueless than sober and vindictive. That was certainly a rarity. The deviant stood and offered her his hand. "Come along, princess. Time to be off for bed."

"But I'm not tired," she replied innocently as he pulled her to her feet.

She babbled nonsensically as the bemused man pulled her along, never letting him get a word in edgewise. Another day, another time, another _person_ and the situation would have been truly hilarious—how often did one so serious get so smashed?—but, alas, it was as it was. The girl clung to his arm as she never would have when sober. She was also much clumsier than usual, nearly tripping and falling several times, and her sudden appreciation of all things "shiny" made Reaver worry for the décor of his poor mansion. That aside, it was very _tempting_ to push his luck and see if he could possibly get a little extra _enjoyment_ from the situation. But the ceaseless prattle was beginning to wear on Reaver's, admittedly short, nerves.

And it didn't help that the princess had never looked more like a child…which was really very unattractive.

Reaver, eventually, led her into their room, wanting her to go to sleep just so she would _shut up_. The princess promptly fell over as he tried to get her to sit on the bed. Nero, who'd spent the entire day asleep on the couch, put his ears down and whined. Reaver was inclined to agree with the collie. _What a nightmare_.

He truly hated being another person's caregiver…not that he had much of a choice at that moment.

The princess trailed into silence when he knelt to unlace her boots. There was nothing enticing in his gestures, none of his usual seduction as he undid the laces; he was almost painfully business-like. Still, his touch lingered on her skin when he removed her stockings.

Their eyes met when he pulled her back onto her feet, and the girl's voice was a sigh as she breathed, "Reaver? I'm the worst excuse for a Hero ever, aren't I?"

Reaver's fingers twitched on the clasp of Victoria's drape, the only sign of hesitation before he went on with removing it. "Why do you ask?"

He watched his hands as he worked, being careful not to reveal anything he was thinking. The little princess was treading dangerously close to topics he'd rather not even _think_ about. Reaver slid the drape from her shoulders, the soft, flimsy material crumpling to the floor around their feet before he moved to deal with her bodice.

"Isn't it obvious?" Victoria sulked, blinking a few times when her vision swam. "I can't save anyone. I can't help Ben. Or the Resistance. I can't stop you or Logan. I let down Walter and Jasper and anyone who ever had faith in me. I…I think _I killed Elliot_. Everything I do goes bad. Dad must hate me."

As she rambled on, Reaver had undressed her further. Secrets, he knew from experience, were good things; big or small they were deliciously destructive and entirely useful. However, this? _This_ was too odd even for him. Who'd known not being able to stop his favorite game would break her down? But broken people were useless if you did nothing to make sure they built themselves back up. And Reaver had no desire to live with a bore…again. "Are you aware, princess," he murmured almost under his breath as he pulled the pins from her hair, "that you are an _extremely_ depressing drunk?"

Victoria sighed exhaustedly, offering neither help nor hindrance to the man stripping her down. "And _you_ hate me."

_That_ gave Reaver pause. Hate her? There were times, he would admit, when he found her annoying or a dull pedant, but _hate_? That was a little too far, wasn't it? Something prickled naggingly at the back of his mind. Or _was_ it?

"I can see it in your eyes, sometimes," she continued on heedlessly, her words stumbling over each other as she, fumbling, took over removing her corset. "Why do you hate me?"

"Go to sleep, princess," he told her exasperatedly. He didn't have an answer to that particular question, and it was best to just ignore it.

For a moment, it looked as if she'd do as he asked. Victoria crawled into the large bed and burrowed under the blankets to stare at him with wide, unfocused little-girl eyes. Reaver had to roll his eyes at the innocence of it all. Strange girl.

Victoria caught his wrist as he turned to go, and, innocently, said, "You're not gon' leave, are you?"

He stared at her a long moment, trying to discern if she meant leave the room, the house, or…or what? Where would he go, anyway? "Not tonight."

"Good." She let go of his wrist and curled up even further. "I don't want to be alone. Daddy was alone and Albion murdered him. I don't want them to kill me too, just yet."

She closed her eyes, leaving that surprisingly morbid statement to wash over Reaver. It left an uncomfortable feeling behind on his skin. He would have to decide if he wanted to ask her about that one day and find out if she meant exactly what Victoria had sounded like she'd meant. Reaver also wanted to know when he'd stopped thinking of her as "the princess" and started thinking of her as "Victoria". He'd have to remedy that. For now…for now, he wanted rest.

Victoria opened her eyes as Reaver left. Her expression much too sober for her earlier behavior, she frowned as she watched him go. With a sigh, she rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

Dreams were fuzzy and disorganized. They chased each other around: nightmares, memories, and things that were neither but held just as much sway.

Victoria didn't want to wake up the next morning. While her head didn't exactly ache, it did feel rather strange and lethargy seemed to have seeped into her bones. It wasn't until she realized that her fuzzy, warm blanket was _breathing_, that she jolted up.

Nero thumped his tail sleepily at her before hiding his head under the pillow. Victoria gave him a pat, wondering when and how he'd gotten in bed with her. It was around then that she realized they were alone. Reaver was nowhere to be seen. She yawned and looked at Nero. "Should we get up, love?"

The collie whined under the pillow (which Victoria suspected was actually Reaver's).

Victoria sat up, deciding to face the day and deal with the consequences of the previous night. Groggily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed…only to freeze when something caught her eye.

There was a box on the bedside table. It was an odd box, too: hexagonal in shape, small, and made of some strange metal. Victoria had seen nothing like it before. She picked up the box, noting a scrap of paper on top, and curiously unfurled it.

_V,_

_Just in case._

Her eyes trailed over the unfamiliar handwriting. It puzzled her.

"Just in case?" she echoed. She dropped the paper onto the blankets beside her. She hesitantly opened the box…only to nearly drop it, as well.

Inside, with no explanation, was her guild seal.

* * *

**AN:** Okay, I lied. I got bored and last chapter sucks, so I'm posting this now. =D (I also edited typoes in the previous chapters.) Aaaanywho...  
Oh, gods, information overload! Plot happened! And then there was making out! Well, did I make up for last chapter? ^^ So...aside from the fair bit of kink (what? I'm the only one who thought the corset bit was kinky?) at the beginning of the chapter, there was actually characterization for once. Praise the gods. And there was a new character. Okay, okay, I'll skip the usual blah-blah-blah, recap-y stuff and get to the important stuff: Victoria had her first kiss and Reaver got to...be Reaver. But, now that the plot's picking up, will they progress any further as a couple? Who sent the guild seal? What does Victoria mean about Sparrow being murdered by Albion? And, the question I think Reaver wants the answer to, will he ever get any from the princess? All answers will be revealed...well, not next time. I mean, come on! You gotta leave me something to do with the plot and that would make for one long chapter... ;) Reviews, please. ^^

**Dev. Notes:** So...lots of notes this chapter. First, the stones in the earrings...which actually have meaning to them. While rubies are frequently associated with love, they are, in magic, used to restrain lust and avert sin and vice; they are also supposed to encourage happiness and compassion. Lodestone, on the other hand, are usually used in pairs in love spells and sex magic; they also encourage power, binding, magnetism (between people), and depression. See where I'm going with this and the significance of who chose what? The song Victoria's singing (rather poorly) was "Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby". I played around with a few other songs, but that one read the best too me; namely that specific line of the lyrics. Before I leave you this chapter, I should say, as a dedicated corset wearer, tightening the laces as tight as you can go is not recommended unless you're used to corsets and have been wearing them a long time, or the corset is too big and doesn't fit any other way (in which case, you might want to refund it for a new one). It can make the wearer extremely uncomfortable and/or lightheaded/dizzy if you wear it that tight your first go. I went with Reaver cinching them so tightly because, 1) most girls way-back-when usually were started on corsets at about eighteen months old and Victoria would be used to it, even if she didn't like it, and 2) in most of their interactions there's a slight BDSM theme of dominance and submission, and I trust I don't need to elaborate on that too much... Til next week (for real, this time). ^^

* * *

**Anon. Review Replies:**

_Ding:_ Thank you. =) I know. =( It was terribly lackluster. I hope I made up for it with...this.


	8. Secrets

_"In this little number we are graced by two displays of character, _  
_We've got: the gunslinger extraordinaire vs. the walking contradictions;_  
_Because I, for one, can see no blood from their hearts or the wrists they allegedly slit,_  
_And I, for one, won't stand for this._  
_If this scene were a parish you'd all be condemned."_  
_~Panic! At The Disco (I Constantly Thank God For Esteban)_

* * *

**Eight:**  
**Secrets**

Her Will was charged. It crackled through the air, frizzing her hair slightly in the static charge of it. It flowed through her veins, both hot and cold as it pushed and seared through the tiny passageways; every blood cell seemed inflamed, burst into bloom by this strange, new force. The energy, the Will, coalesced around her hands, illuminating every line and crease of her skin in an otherworldly glow.

_Just a little further._

The glow intensified, bathing the room in blue-white light. An ominous crackle rent the still air. The energy around her hands was beginning to solidify. White streaks shot through the strange blue light as the air around her continued to crackle and pop.

_A little more._

Sweat beaded on her brow. Her nerves were stretched and her body ached. Prolonged exposure to the energy wore terribly on her. She'd never felt anything like it before, but she couldn't stop when she was so close.

_Now!_

The energy was released. Will tore through the air, bolts of lightning that raced across space to their target. She gave the spell her everything. Her Will ebbed and, slowly, the spell faded. The little disk that had been her target was utterly unaffected.

Victoria groaned and dropped her head to the slightly scorched table. She'd really thought it would work this time. Four weeks. For _four weeks_ she'd been trying to get the guild seal to work. Spells didn't affect it. Her usual way of contacting the Sanctuary failed. Nothing touched that damned, _damned_ seal.

She glared at it out of the corner of her eye, not deigning to lift her head. It was incredibly aggravating.

Nero's ears perked and he gave a low growl from his spot on the floor, alerting her a couple seconds before the library door opened. There came a good deal of rustling and whispering from the doorway before someone finally cleared their throat.

"_Yes?_" Victoria called without lifting her head. She moved slightly to stare at her hand when it suddenly cracked with energy for a split second. _Huh…interesting._

"Miss," a feminine voice said politely, though a bit briskly. When she finally turned to look at her, Victoria recognized her as the maid—Ella, she thought she was called—who'd found her the first night at the mansion. "Miss, dinner is served."

The princess nodded slowly, her brown eyes fixed on the servant behind Ella; she didn't recognize him, but he seemed almost _giddy_ about seeing her. "Thank you. I will be done in a moment."

Ella curtsied politely and hurriedly ushered the boy behind her out of the room. Victoria caught an excited "I told you she was a Hero!" before the door closed. She shook her head. _Peasants_, she thought with an unusual amount of acid, and then winced. _No_, she corrected herself. _People. Just people looking for someone to save them. _Pity everyone thought she could do it. Pity she couldn't even save herself. _Why did I ever want to be a Hero, again?_ she wondered, casting a dark look at the strangely silent guild seal as if everything bad that had ever happened was entirely its fault. Perhaps, in some regard, it _was_.

"What do you think, Nero?" she asked, leaning down to pet her collie.

Nero's lovingly vacant expression was somehow more serious than usual, his eyes moving between his mistress and the door. He raised his head from his paws, whining all the while, to nudge her hand with his cool, wet nose. Once his mistress was scratching his ears, he thumped his tail a couple times in contentment. Victoria smiled. Life _had_ to be good if you were a dog.

"_That_ is _exactly_ what I thought. Let's go eat," she told him as she attached her guild seal to her belt.

Nero leapt to his feet and eagerly wagged his tail. He followed his quietly thoughtful mistress through the nearly empty hallways, panting slightly and never getting ahead of her, even when she paused in the door to the dining room.

Victoria sat down in her chair, feeling awkward. She was alone at the table. She was _never_ alone at the table, because Reaver never missed a meal nor an opportunity to poke jabs at her. And yet, she realized, and yet he, with increasing frequency, _was_. If he woke in the night, he was gone before her half-asleep mind could process it (some nights he didn't sleep at all). Most of the questions she directed at him fell on inattentive ears and never received a reply. It was with increasing rarity that she found him alone, and, far rarer, adequately sober. And the few times he was either, he seemed strangely restless.

She fed Nero a scrap from her plate, suddenly not feeling hungry. It shouldn't have mattered _how_ Reaver was acting and she knew it. But her mind kept catching on him as the memory of kissing him intruded on her every quiet, unoccupied moment. Victoria silently cursed him as she fed Nero more.

She shouldn't have kissed him back. _Stop dwelling on it!_ She sighed and set her plate on the floor so Nero could get at it. Victoria wondered what it would be like to have a quiet life.

* * *

"I may not have sufficient evidence for an argument, but the clauses, when applied, are more than enough reason for him to—you aren't listening to me, are you?"

Victoria fixed Reaver, who was in the midst of writing something into a small book, an exasperated look. She was trying a new tactic, but...well, how was she supposed to convince him to help her if he couldn't even _listen_ to her?

"I _am_ listening," he replied, the distracted tone of his voice convincing her that it was a lie.

She was sick of being ignored. She crossed the sitting room and pushed the book down, leaning forward so she was eye-level with him. "Reaver, I don't appreciate being ignored."

Reaver finally looked at her, a hint of lasciviousness in his slowly growing smirk. "I'm listening intently." When Victoria had backed up, realizing she had given him an unparalleled view down the front of her dress, he added, "Not that I see a point in all of your plotting."

"No point?!" she echoed indignantly. Victoria had barely sat down in the chair across from Reaver's and had to restrain herself from leaping up again. How could he say there was no point to ending the engagement?

"Yes," he replied boredly, writing in his little book again. "You _do_ realize that anything you attempt to use, every clause, every law, the king will dispute, don't you?"

"Then _you_ convince him to call it off, if you're so clever."

He laughed outright at her. "Me?" Still chortling, he, mindful of the still-wet ink, set the book and pen aside. "My dear, naïve girl, even if I walked up to your brother and told him I no longer wanted to marry his mad—"

"_Mad?!_"

"—strumpet of a sister, he'd not halt the wedding," Reaver told her as if she'd never interrupted him in the first place. His tone reminded her of someone talking to a small child. "As such, I do _not_ see a point in your continued attempts at sabotage."

Victoria thought on his words for a moment as she took a sip of tea. It was _wonderful_; the tea, that is. Sweet, light, and somewhat flowery, it reminded her of a perfume; the very smell seemed to linger within her long after she took a drink. She closed her eyes to savor it and leaned her head back against the armchair's headrest. "Then as soon as we've married, I'll accuse you of adultery and call for a divorce. Incest, bigamy, and excessive cruelty are three surefire ways for a woman to get one, right? I'm sure I could find people willing to truthfully testify you've engaged in at least two of those…probably with the same few persons. If enough people came forward, Logan would have no choice but to listen."

Victoria opened her eyes and blinked. She could find no words to describe the look Reaver had fixed her with, but the look quickly turned shrewd. They both knew she had a point and was probably correct about at least one of those clauses.

"Oh, yes. How very _industrious_ of you…and how bloody _annoying_. I've no intention of being your scapegoat, princess. Do you _ever_ learn, I wonder?"

"What do you mean?" Victoria inquired, choosing to ignore the insult in favor of possibly getting some help.

Reaver took a sip from a wine glass before observing the burgundy-coloured liquid within. "You're working entirely too hard to complicate everything when you would do well to simplify it." He turned his dark eyes from the glass to her, and, seeing that he had her utmost attention, he continued on. "Your brother is counting on you to complain and fight this, but still go through with it like a _good little girl_. Because of this, he still has his guard up. He will see through every little attempt you make…so you might consider doing the opposite."

"You mean…I should…_play nice_ with him?" Victoria inquired slowly.

Reaver set his glass down. "I would think you would be _marvelous_ at it, judging by your behavior as of late."

She flushed, but was too interested in the conversation to condemn his comment. "So you're expecting me to randomly write to Logan and tell him, 'Oh, my dearest brother, I've had a change of heart. I'm madly in love with the bane of my existence! Whatever can I do to repay you for pairing us together?' Or something along those lines, right?"

Reaver looked amused, but whether it was because of her overly girly, overly romantic faux-proclamation of undying love or because he'd been elevated to being the bane of her existence, Victoria was unsure. "Not exactly in those words, and perhaps not so soon."

"But you _do_ think I should fool him into thinking I'm alright with this?" Victoria's mind lingered on when she'd first lied and told Logan she consented to the engagement.

"In a word? Yes."

Victoria hesitated. "But…I'd be lying again. Isn't that…I don't know, _wrong_?"

Reaver's expression reminded her of a devil as he reached for his wine glass. "There is no right or wrong when it comes to self-preservation."

She thought about that as she stared at the aromatic, pale brown tea in her hands. Victoria was uncomfortable with the lie. _But what else can I do but try?_ She inclined her teacup toward him as if for a toast. "To self-preservation?"

Still smirking, Reaver gave her a long, sideways look before inclining his own glass toward her. "Self-preservation."

* * *

To Victoria's amazement, Reaver's suggestion had turned out to work well. Logan began to back off and be less forceful as Victoria attempted to make her correspondences less angry and increasingly contented. Every letter made her feel guilty. But then she would think of Ben, locked away in a cell somewhere, and Elliot, cold and _dead_ for wanting to help others, and her guilt would fade.

_Reaver was wrong_, she thought. This _was_ a war. Well-hidden and psychological as it mainly was, it was _still_ a war. And still dangerous. Victoria struggled to plan her moves ahead of time, but, unlike Logan, she was no great strategist. She let instinct guide her, no matter how bad of a situation it put her in. Which, she had to admit, sometimes was a wee bit of a problem.

The dull ticking of a clock added a nice touch of monotony to the background of her thoughts. Victoria had left Nero to nap in the bedroom and had decided to simply think and wander about. Reaver's house was good for wandering, especially now that it was nearly fully furnished.

Her wooden-soled slippers made hardly a sound against the floors as she walked the halls. She was venturing into a part of the house she had never before seen. Looking around, she would admit, made her a bit nervous. Victoria had seen Reaver vanish down these halls before, but that didn't really inspire confidence. She couldn't imagine what could be down there.

More rooms, she quickly found. A lot more rooms. Victoria tried a few doors, but all of them seemed to be either locked or hiding empty rooms from view. When she reached the end of the hall, she paused. There were two doors left before the hall branched off, and, after a moment of thought, she picked the door with sunlight showing through the crack at the bottom.

A smile crept over her face at the number of glass cases lining the walls. Her curiosity peaked and pulled her into the room, prompting her to quickly shut the door behind her when the door to the room she'd chosen to ignore swung open. Victoria held still as almost cheerful footsteps headed away from her room.

When the hall was once again silent, ignoring her growing feeling of trepidation, she set to moving about the room.

The glass cabinets gleamed in the pale, late afternoon sunlight, but it was the objects within them that _really_ caught her fancy. Fragile and arcane amulets rested on old cushions. Rough-hewn sculptures of foreign gods and dignitaries rose up proudly. A slotted, bronze pyramid-shaped box cast a warm glow on the objects nearest it, while a jewel-encrusted compass sparkled with multi-facetted light in the rays of the winter sun. Some sort of animal skull sat atop a small, nearly flat oaken chest. Victoria also caught sight of an old pistol that looked to be in a state of disuse, judging by the odd dent in its side.

She knelt down on the floor to see inside the bottom of one cabinet, smoothing down the black and sage coloured fabric of her dress as she did so, and found a reason to open the glass door. There was a strange pouch in the corner. It was small, made of red velvet and gold drawstrings, but that wasn't what made it strange. Every object in every case was covered in a fine layer of dust, showing they were cleaned just often enough to be viewed by people. The pouch was not. In fact, as Victoria noticed when she leaned in closer, the dust around it was disturbed as if someone had hastily shoved the pouch in there to keep it out of sight.

Victoria carefully eased the door open. Slowly, so as not to accidentally knock into anything inside, she reached for the pouch. It was strangely cold to the touch and an unexpected flicker of despair went through her when her fingers met whatever small, hard object lay hidden within.

She jerked her hand back when a pair of good-naturedly conversing voices reached her ears. As their footsteps approached, she leapt to her feet and silently closed the cabinet door. The pouch was left where it lay.

Victoria stood still as one of Reaver's statues by the door, waiting for the hall to be clear so she could leave. Another door was opened and she recognized one of the voices as Reaver's. Their voices were quickly muffled and she poked her head out into the hall. Now, it was empty.

She pulled the door open, and, after a sudden thought, pulled her slippers off. She padded, barefoot, out into the hall. Her footsteps made not a sound and she went to hide in another part of the house. Or…she would have, anyway, had she not heard Logan's name.

"That bastard Logan still giving you trouble?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

The princess froze in surprise, not so much at his words but at his _tone_. Never, not even among Resistance members, had she ever heard such a tone of utmost disrespect for her brother. It simultaneously made her skin crawl and her blood boil. She wanted _dearly_ to walk into the room and slap the mystery man. However, that would have given her snooping away, and so she restrained herself.

"In a manner of speaking." Reaver said the words almost delicately, as if he didn't wish to push the matter either way.

Victoria found herself inching toward the slightly open door. She caught sight of a comfortable-looking study and a mirror at the opposite end of the room, and she crouched down to avoid being spotted in it. She still held her now forgotten slippers in her hands.

"But you're still set to marry that bint, aren't you?"

"My engagement to _the princess_ is ongoing, yes." Reaver sounded even more careful, as if he knew he was being mocked, found it intolerable, but had to tolerate it for some unknown reason. Personally, Victoria thought the other man was a fool for ignoring the warning in Reaver's voice. She knew from experience that people didn't just toy with Reaver and walk away from it unscathed.

She purposely ignored what he'd just called her. Getting mad about it wouldn't end well.

"But she—?"

There was a very pregnant pause in which Victoria, who could barely see into the study, was sure a warning look had been thrown the man's way.

"I _wouldn't_ describe her in such terms, myself," Reaver told him with finality. Then, all cordialness replaced with a strictly business tone, he added, "Not that it isn't a _pleasure_ to see you, my _dear_ Droogan, but _why_ are you here?"

The other man, Droogan, also changed his posture, becoming almost aggressive with his attitude. "It's not working."

"Patience."

"'_Patience_'?! I paid you well for those thugs, Reaver. _Very_ well. And what has it gotten me to show for it? _Three villages_. I _should_ own half of Albion, by now."

"Again, I ask only for your patience. I understand your need to move forward, but it would not be in your best interest to do so…and, frankly, it would be a waste of my time and money."

"How so?"

Droogan didn't sound like he was going to make this easy and Reaver sighed as though he were talking to an idiot, which he probably felt like he was doing. "The king is on the watch for any signs of unrest. Do you _really_ think a warlord would escape his notice?"

Victoria's heart seemed to pause a beat. This Droogan bloke was a _warlord_ and was _paying Reaver_ to help him? _Oh, bloody_ hell_, this_ can't _be good._

"Even if that's true, the _deal_ was that I paid for them to act on _my_ terms. And if they don't, _I don't pay_."

"Then feel free to withdraw your payment, dear Droogan, and I'll withdraw my men."

Droogan, for the first time, was quiet; stricken by the weight of Reaver's very blunt threat. The silence grew, and it was obvious Droogan was waiting for Reaver to break it. It was also obvious, to Victoria, that Reaver was more than happy with letting Droogan sit there, stewing in his own incompetence.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"_Really_?" came the patronizing reply.

"I want you to speed things along. I don't care that you're leaving Albion soon. Speed things up. You'll get your gold."

_Since _when _is he leaving Albion?!_ the princess thought, nearly falling over from her crouch in surprise.

"The best gambling may be done with a partner, warlord," Reaver said companionably, "but a gamble never pays off without a risk."

Whatever Reaver meant, it went right over Victoria's head. Droogan, however, seemed to have gotten it for he awkwardly proclaimed that some things were just too big of a risk. As they wrapped things up, Victoria became aware of just how bad it would look if she were caught spying on a conversation that was…well…_treasonous_ came easily to mind.

She looked down the hall she'd come from to find there was a distinct lack of cover. She could hide in one of the rooms, yes, but there was no guarantee that one of the men would not check them for eavesdroppers. The hall she'd yet to look in had a turn in it. If she could get to it before the men exited the room, she could possibly be safe.

Movements slightly frantic in her worry, she stood and made her way down the hall. Just as she was nearing the bend, she heard the study door open. Victoria flung herself around the corner…and tripped. She threw out her arms to catch a hold of a nearby suit of armor. Her hands had fastened around the gauntlets when, to her horror, the entire suit seemed to move down with her.

And then, with a very faint _click!_, the suit stopped moving.

She stood there, half fallen over and clutching the cold armor for a second, confused. Hearing voices approaching, she straightened up, ignoring the strange suit of armor, and looked for cover. It was about then that she noticed a bit of wall paneling had slid aside to reveal a dark hole.

The voices were closer now. Victoria didn't have time to ponder the sudden appearance of a well-hidden, highly convenient door. She snatched her slippers off the floor, and, without a moment to spare, dove into the darkness.

In hindsight, it might have been better had she not.

* * *

**AN:** Ugh, I'm slightly reeling, atm. I had this big scare about Camp NaNo (someone told me it was in June, but it's really in July and yeah...freak out moment). Not to mention, I just watched Prometheus and now I can't get the mental image of blonde robot-Logan out of my mind...mmm... Anywho. Well, this chapter seems a little pointless, but it actually is sorta important. Or, at least, it leads up to stuff. (Like chapters four and five, this and the next were actually one chapter, but I had to divide them into two to keep from a 10k word chapter...well, to keep from more than the one there will be later...) So. Reaver and Victoria have had their first taste of working together, and Victoria is building her Will abilities. Is it just me, or does Victoria need to stop sticking her nose in other people's business? XD But how will Reaver react? Thankies to everyone who's reviewed/favorite/followed thus far! And, since I just got a big box of corsets in the mail and I'm feeling quite indolent with everything, I've decided to give you a say in how often I post this fic. In all, there will be 26 chapters. Would you like to have me post more than once a week or shall I keep to the once weekly thing? Bear in mind that I've not yet finished the sequel, and so, if I post this too quickly, you might have to wait a bit longer for it to be up. ...wait, did I just spoil the sequel? Bugger. Oh well. ;) Send me input, please. ^^

**Dev. Notes:** I should have warned you last chapter that it's time for Bloodties spoilers. Oopsie. To be honest, I thought about keeping the Bloodties references to Reaver's home being located near Blackholm, but I added Droogan and a couple other things because they just seemed to fit and work well with the story. Then again...I also kinda hate Droogan. *mutters darkly* Also, kudos to Claire for the most hilarious reaction to a hole opening up in a wall ever. I never expected a beta of mine to go "oh, cool!" over something I wrote like that. XD


	9. Half-breed

_"We're all here waiting. We're anticipating.  
While they are orchestrating to grant the wishes we are making.  
It makes no difference who we are. It makes no difference who we are.  
No price too great, no distance too far, if we could wish upon a Blackstar.  
It makes no difference who we are when we have wished upon a Blackstar."  
~Celldweller (It Makes No Difference Who We Are)_

* * *

**Nine:  
****Half-breed**

_Sparrow had always been fond of telling stories, though never ones about himself. There had been one story of his that Victoria had latched onto with particular fierceness. Victoria would ask again and again from everyone who knew of it—and who could tell a decent story—to tell her it. Unsurprisingly, other than her father's version, Walter's telling quickly became her favorite. It went a little something like this:_

_Once, in a far off kingdom, there lived a greedy miller who sought to make himself more important. One day, he bought himself a meeting with the King and declared that his beautiful daughter could spin straw into gold. The King was pleased by this, for his own greed greatly exceeded that of the miller's. The King had the girl brought before him, and, locking her away in a room full of straw and a single spinning wheel, declared that she would spin all of the straw into gold by the morning, or she would be executed._

_When the King was gone, the girl began to weep, for she did not know how to spin straw into gold. In the midst of her weeping, a small man appeared before her. He knew how to fulfill the King's task. However, before he would begin, he wanted payment for his help. And so the girl gave him the ring from her finger, and so the man sat and spun the straw._

* * *

Victoria didn't know how long she stood there with the darkness pressing in on her. The paneling had slid closed behind her, hiding her from view, but it had also blocked out all sound from the rest of the house. There was a distinct lack of light in the little hiding place, and no matter how hard she tried she could not find the lever to reopen the hidden door. She couldn't get out. If she had any faith in her control of her fireball spell, she would have tried to create one just for the light. As it was, she was sure she'd probably blow a hole in the wall if she tried.

Cool air swirled around her bare feet and she shivered. As she bent to replace her slippers on her feet, she noticed there wasn't a wall behind her. Was this place bigger than it seemed? Shoes back on, she cautiously edged forward, hoping for a way out.

She took a step and her foot fell through the air. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as her stomach dropped out _and where was the floor?!_ For a moment, she thought she was going to keep falling, and then her foot hit stone and she suddenly stopped. As her heart slowly returned to beating its normal rhythm, she silently cursed Reaver. Who, by Avo, didn't make sure _stairs_ were lit? Victoria felt lucky she hadn't broken her neck.

She held onto the stone walls as she, even more cautiously, descended the stairs. It grew colder the further she walked, and the air grew heavy and thick with some oppressive feeling. Victoria also became aware of an odd smell as the stairs became lighter. It was a musky, animalistic smell of fur and offal and things Victoria would probably rather not consider.

The stairs came to an abrupt end at a small antechamber lit by a single torch. Victoria thought she died a little inside when she realized there wasn't just one path leading away from the room, but many. _Did he_ have_ to make this place like a giant maze? _As she stood there, carefully contemplating which corridor to take (after all, who knew what Reaver had lurking under his home), a soft sound reached her ears. A sound that was kind of like sobbing.

"Hello?" Victoria called nervously. Her voice echoed around her. "Is someone there?"

She received no answer.

She found the corridor from which the sobbing seemed to be coming from and slowly made her way down it. The animal smell grew stronger. Victoria was walking in darkness again, and the hallway seemed even longer than the stairs. There was a faint light at the end and she hurried to reach it. What she saw when she did made her want to run back the way she'd come.

Cages lined the walls and inside them, packed three to five a cage, were the monsters of nightmares. Victoria had seen nothing like them before and, as such, knew neither what to call them nor how to react. They weren't balverines, that was for sure; though thick patches of fur were visible through their extremely frayed clothing and their claws and fangs looked positively lethal. Something about their sickly gray skin reminded her of hobbes. But hobbes were small and squat and these things…these things were tall and stood like humans. Victoria felt a surge of pity through her fear. They _had_ been human. And then anger replaced her pity. What. The _fuck_. Was. Reaver _doing_. To them?

The beings, however, were paying her no mind as she observed them. Some sat crouched in their cells as others paced on all fours. Still others were fighting with each other, emitting somewhat unnerving snarls and growls as they did so. Pity for them aside, Victoria was glad they were in cages. She didn't want to have to fight them and see what those claws could do to her.

Absently rubbing at the scar stretching across her face, she stepped further into the room. She could still hear sobbing. It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the chamber and she walked toward it. It was a struggle to appear calm and confident as she anticipated something terrible waiting for her there.

As it turned out, she was wrong. It wasn't a fearsome creature awaiting her. It was only a man.

* * *

_The King was pleased when he discovered the room he'd placed the miller's daughter in was now full of spindles of spun gold. His greed gripping him, he took her to an even larger room full of even more straw. Again he instructed her to spin all of the straw or she would face certain death. And, again, in his absence she began to weep for surely this time she would be found out. But, as with the previous night, the little man appeared before her._

_"I will spin this straw for you," he said. "But what will you give me in return?" And so she gave him her necklace, and so he spun the straw._

* * *

"Hello?" Victoria called tentatively.

The sobbing abruptly stopped. The man leapt to his feet, horror in his eyes behind the weariness that obviously gripped him. Scars crisscrossed his bare chest like a shirt, fresh welts overlapping the old ones. His dirty blond hair was shaggy and, for some reason, he reminded her of someone she knew; she just couldn't think of _whom_.

"What are you doing here?"

Victoria hesitated at the roughness and urgency in the man's voice. She tried to keep her tone soothing as she replied, "I—I thought I heard someone crying."

"You shouldn't be down here," he said.

It took Victoria a moment to realize his brusqueness wasn't born of rudeness but of fear. "Why shouldn't I be down here? Aside from the obvious."

"You're _her_, aren't you? The one we were told not to touch. The others don't have self-control. They'll tear you to shreds."

"I—" Victoria hesitated to quell the fear rising in her gut. The urge to run was growing stronger, battling the Heroic urge to help. "How do you know about me? Who are you?"

He looked taken aback that she actually cared to ask. "William. My name is William, and…we just _know_ things. I don't know _how_ we do, we just _do_."

"You answer to Reaver, don't you?" When William nodded at her, Victoria added, "Then there must be a way I can help you." She reached for his cage door. "Look—"

"No!" William yelped, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength before she could reach it. "You really shouldn't do that."

It was then that Victoria realized all of the creatures had stopped what they were doing and were staring directly at her. And she hoped it was only her imagination that quite a few of them looked like they were hungry.

"Run," William said, entire body tense again.

"But they're ca—_oh_." Victoria's eyes widened as one of the creatures pushed their, obviously unlocked, cage door open. "Oh no."

"_Run_," William insisted again, moving purposely toward his own door.

Victoria began to back towards the way she came. "What about you?"

"_Go!_"

Victoria ran. She wanted to turn and see what was snapping and crackling behind her, but running was too important. She skidded to a stop as, inhumanly fast, a pair of creatures stepped in front of her. She wondered if this was it, the end for her. No weapons, very little Will ability, and she was stuck in the basement of Reaver's home with a bunch of mysterious creatures who wanted to devour her flesh. There was irony in there, she just knew it.

But, just as Victoria was expecting to be ripped in half by monstrous claws, a piercing howl rang out.

Everything in the room froze. The creatures in front of her took a couple steps back, directing a series of yips and bark-like noises at someone (or thing) behind her. An angry snarl was their answer, and Victoria slowly turned to see what was standing behind her. She quickly had to step back. It was huge, larger than the others; its yellow eyes tracked the others' movements and he snapped when they got too close.

"Get…out…" He breathed with difficulty.

"_William?_"

One of the creatures decided to question William's authority and it flung itself at them. William caught hold of it and tossed it aside like a rag doll. Victoria took that as her cue to run.

The sage fabric of her dress made it difficult to run, but she didn't stop. She quickly became lost in the labyrinth of tunnels, running through darkness and light alternatively. She tried to follow the coldest of tunnels, trusting that those would lead her outside. After what felt like ages, the sounds of William and his fellows faded as did their smell. She felt bad about leaving William behind, but knew, realistically, it was unavoidable.

Her legs grew tired, her muscles sore, and her lungs burned with every breath. Victoria didn't stop running, though. She could feel the frigid air shifting slightly, indicating she was close to a way out.

Light was peeking through around a rectangle of darkness far ahead of her. _A door!_ Reenergized by the thought of leaving, Victoria pushed herself to run faster. She reached the door, fumbling with the lock before getting it open, and burst out into the snow. She closed it behind her and turned to run back around to the front door…

…only to crash directly into Reaver.

* * *

_The King rejoiced once more at the sight of all the spun gold. But his greed was insatiable, and he had the girl brought to the largest straw-filled room yet. This time, when he instructed her to spin the straw, he did not promise her death for failure. Instead, he proclaimed that, if she were successful, she would become his wife._

_The little man appeared before the miller's daughter as soon as the King was gone, but, this time, she had nothing to give him. But the man had a solution and the girl was desperate, and so, as he sat down at the spinning wheel, the girl promised away her first-born child._

* * *

Victoria tried to back away, but they were too close to the side of the mansion and Reaver had a grip on her arm. Panic, still fresh in her blood from running from the creatures, spiked. She yanked her arm out of his gloved hand, at the same time shoving him away from her as hard as she could. His hands got a grip on her once more and she head butted him. He jerked backwards, letting go of her to reach for his face with a soft groan, and Victoria fled. She had only gotten a few feet before she found herself roughly shoved against the wall. Victoria groaned low in her throat as the back of her head collided against the stones and her vision swam. _Ow…._

"Well, well, what a _busy_ little bee you are. I see you survived my half-breeds. How _clever_ of you."

Reaver had her pinned; his forearm pressing into her shoulder to keep her there and his right hand holding her wrist to the wall by her head so she would not lash out. They were so close together, one might have thought, if not for Reaver's increasing ire and Victoria's growing fear, that their position was one of intimacy. Instead, Victoria had never felt more like she was being demanded to submit to someone in all of her life. She tried to struggle; Reaver simply tightened his grip.

"I—"

"I would suggest you think over your next words _very_ carefully before you say them."

He was going to kill her. She could see it in his eyes. She'd probably seen the one thing Reaver had never intended her to see, it was the only reason she could think of for such a furious, defensive behavior. Through her fear, her brain stalled. _Defensive?_

An idea sparked through her mind like wildfire, and Victoria narrowed her eyes challengingly at him. "Well? You want to hurt me, don't you? Aren't you going to do it?"

Reaver's fingers twitched against her wrist, either wanting to go for her throat or his pistol. But, as some of the haze of anger disappeared from those dark eyes, he didn't move.

"You can't, can you?" Victoria shot at him triumphantly. "If you touch me, and Logan finds out, it's over for you. And you know it."

"Bold words, dear princess, coming from someone _cowering_ behind a sibling that doesn't want them."

The words stung as if he'd slapped her and it was a struggle to keep the pain of them from showing on her face. "I am _not_ cowering behind Logan," she spat, trying to get a decent breath and failing. "I _never_ intended to."

"Didn't you?" The faintest bit of surprised curiosity coloured his anger, but, still, he did not let her go.

"Maybe for a second," she admitted. She finally stopped struggling and went limp. "I figured, as much as Logan probably would like to know you've an army of monsters at your disposal, I—I rather thought it was something I should yell at you about."

Reaver's expression turned suspicious. "Why? Why not tell the King and end this now? It's what you desire, isn't it?"

Victoria attempted to shrug, but, in her current position, it looked more like a strange wiggle. As his temper began to ebb, she found herself starting to calm; maybe she would survive the day, after all. "I don't know; it just…seemed like what I should do."

She began to consider that her logic was somewhat flawed on occasion.

Reaver snorted and let go of her. Victoria, not expecting the sudden movement, crumpled to the snow at his feet. She shivered as she rubbed her aching collarbone; she really wasn't dressed for sitting in the snow, but she wasn't about to get up incase Reaver knocked her down again.

He stood before her, one hand on his hip, looking calm and controlled and Victoria couldn't help but wonder at his mercurial mood shifts. "As much as your discretion is appreciated, _ma belle_—"

"I'm not above telling him, though," Victoria added hastily, not wanting Reaver to think he could just walk all over her because she hadn't planned on telling Logan.

"—but what are you hoping to gain from it?" Reaver finished, giving her a small, knowing smirk. He knelt down in front of her and held out his hand. "Can you keep a secret, _love_?"

Victoria hesitated. "I want William freed from whatever you've done to him."

He chuckled. "Impossible. William's humanity is tied to his staying here and receiving carefully monitored treatments. If I released him, the beast would consume him, and you don't want that, do you?"

The mocking words made her heart sink, and she couldn't help but feel like he was toying with her. She had absolutely no intention of telling Logan anything for William's sake (knowing Logan would probably have the half-breeds killed without any care for their previous states), but, now that she had Reaver's attention, she had another idea in mind. "I want to make a deal with you. Think of it as a business wager."

She took his hand.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever ask."

He pulled her to her feet.

* * *

_In time, the girl became Queen and bore a child. It had been a year since the King had set her task of spinning straw and she had forgotten about her promise._

_Soon, however, the little man appeared before her to collect the child. The Queen was horrified and offered him anything else he could have possibly desired. But he only wanted the child. The Queen despaired and wept, begging him not to take her child. He took pity on her, however, and declared that, if she could but guess his name in three days, he would leave her and her child be. When he left her, the Queen sent out a messenger to find all the names in the land, and spent the rest of the night thinking._

_She spent the entirety of the next day guessing the little man's name but to no avail. The second day bore the same results, but, early on the third day, the messenger returned to her with news. He had found no new names, but had instead come across a little house where a small man had danced around a large fire, singing, "Today do I bake, tomorrow I brew, the day after that the Queen's child comes in; and oh! I am glad that nobody knew that the name I am called is Rumpelstiltskin!"_

_The Queen was elated and related this name to the little man, who quickly realized he had been tricked. His anger at this trickery was so great…he tore himself asunder._

* * *

He pulled her through the halls, and Victoria didn't fight him. Servants got quickly out of their way, looking perplexed. Something had changed; they could feel it and they didn't want to be around to witness it.

In short order they arrived at Reaver's study. Victoria looked around curiously at the dark paneled room when Reaver let go of her, never having been inside it before. She sat down slowly in the chair by his desk and watched him. Reaver, however, took his time to sit. He lingered for a moment behind his desk before sitting gracefully across from Victoria.

"There are three things I want from you," Victoria said before Reaver could say anything.

Reaver was amused. "Anxious, are we?"

"No," Victoria said truthfully as Reaver put his feet up on the desk. "I just want to say what I have to say before you start twisting my thoughts."

The look Reaver sent her was frighteningly devious, but he gestured for her to go on.

"I want a weapon," Victoria told him quickly. When he raised a questioning brow at her, she added, "If I might be eaten just for taking a wrong turn in your home, I think I deserve that much. It is not as though I might attack you and I'm not going to confine myself to the bedroom just for your sake."

Reaver looked thoughtful, though Victoria had a feeling that he was indulging his sense of drama as opposed to him actually thinking it over. "I suppose that could be arranged."

"And—" Victoria hesitated, glancing away for a second, before looking back at him. "I want to go with you."

"I…beg your pardon?"

It was clearly not something Reaver had expected her to ask about, and she blushed. "I—I—he said you were leaving and—and I just—I want to go."

"_You_ want to come with _me_ to _Bloodstone_?" Reaver echoed disbelievingly.

Victoria fidgeted, glancing everywhere but Reaver. "Yes."

This time when Reaver grew thoughtful and quiet, Victoria could tell he was truly thinking over her request. And, just as she was beginning to think he would decline, he quickly replied, "Done. And what else do you desire of me?"

She ignored the flirtation in his voice. "I want a favor; an open-ended one that I can save for a later time. You're free to change the terms of this favor, but you're obligated to say yes no matter what I ask."

"You, princess, are _certainly_ not afraid of asking for things, are you?" Amusement laced his voice, covering up thinly veiled tension.

"No, I'm not."

"I assume you think I'm just going to _give_ you my assistance freely."

Victoria gave him a sweet, innocent smile. "That's entirely up to you…_love_."

"I'm afraid I don't _do_ open-ended favors, dear. Either tell me what you want _now_, or come up with something else to ask of me."

The princess hesitated before saying very quickly, "I'm going to want your help with something one day. Something…a bit too un-Heroic for me to do myself. I'm going to ask that you do it for me without expecting compensation or acknowledgement. What do you say?"

Reaver slowly removed his booted feet from atop the desk. He watched her carefully, clearly intrigued as he looked her up and down. She had him, Victoria could feel it. It was something in the way he stared at her with a mix of fascination and charm. By Avo, if suggesting that she might have to do something along the lines of what he would approve of one day got him on her side…she should have done it sooner.

Slowly, he extended his hand. "We have an accord."

They shook hands.

"It's been a _pleasure_ doing business with you."

* * *

_The stories of Victoria's childhood had always ended with "and they lived happily ever after," but, even then, she had never believed it. There was no such thing, she knew, as a happy ending. Happy endings were just stories that hadn't finished yet._

* * *

**AN:** No, Victoria! Don't go with him to Bloodstone! Don't you know what he does there?! Oh...wait...you don't. Oh no. Will this be the end of our heroine? What will Victoria's un-Heroic favor be? And who does William remind Victoria of? (If you know the answer to that one, then do you see the similarities between the them both in this moment?) So, you guys commented...and I'll be posting a little more frequently, but it's if the mood strikes me; meaning, once a week, but probably twice if the last chapter was short or I'm anxious for the next one. Onto rambly fangirl stuff. Did everyone see that The Lost Chapters is being remade in HD?! :D Who else is excited?! #HideTheChickens! Please send love and reviews. ^^ Cheers!

**Dev. Notes:** This chapter was...uh...controversial amongst the beta team. Half loved it, the rest hated it, and it was all to do with the format. In the end, I decided to keep it as it is here. I told y'all before that this fic was based on a fairy tale, and...well, Rumpelstiltskin is it. You can decide who plays what character. ;) As for why Reaver going to Bloodstone counts as "leaving Albion", one, I don't think Reaver would tell his associates where he was going, and two, "the southern parts of Albion were cut off [for the rest of the country]"; I remember a line to that affect in Fable II during one of the loading screens. To me, it implies that Bloodstone and Wraithmarsh aren't counted as part of the country by most people. I could be wrong, but that's my head canon and I shan't be changing it without good reason. *nods sagely* The decision to include the half-breeds was not because they are of any real importance to the story-line (there, I admitted it; not everything I do has a purpose, especially with my short attention span), but because the fact that Reaver had them created and has them at his disposal would highlight, for Victoria, that Reaver is ruthless when it comes to other people and is perfectly content to do whatever he wants with monsterous creatures. It's also cuz I thought she might enjoy meeting them. Looks like she doesn't think my idea of fun is a good one. :( Pity...Chesty seems to think it is.


	10. On Night's Tides

_"Into the sea, into the sea, yeah, let's go._  
_Leaving reason far behind, nothing here is cruel or kind."_  
_~Oceanlab (Sirens Of The Sea)_

* * *

**Ten:**  
**On Night's Tides**

The streets of Bowerstone lay dark and silent. The city looked deserted but for the few staggering drunks making their ways home and the even fewer guards, standing and freezing at their posts. Dirtied snow lay piled up against houses and in alleyways, pushed out of the streets so people could still get about. Ice formed at the very edges of waterways, held back by the constant boat traffic. Soon, the only lights in the city were those of taverns yet to close and the fires of the homeless that had yet to burn out. Even the gaslights lining the paths were burning low, guttering in every breeze.

A lone carriage rode through the darkness, its shiny black lacquer rendering it nearly invisible in the midnight hour. The driver, wrapped in a thick coat and wide-brimmed hat, didn't appear to notice the cold; he drove on heedless of the snow. No one noticed their passing.

Victoria was cold; freezing in the brumal air. A carriage should be warmer, her mind insisted as she snuggled deeper into the warm velvet of her cloak. She was sharing it. The cloak, that is. Nero had burrowed under every bit of fabric Victoria wasn't hording, curling up against her thigh for warmth. Victoria wished that, like Nero, she was asleep. The silence was beginning to grow unnerving and she was much too cold for any conversation; ignoring of course that, just a few hours previous, she had been so chatty she had exhausted her questions to Reaver, before noting his annoyance at the unending interrogation and growing quiet so as not to annoy him any further.

Victoria rubbed her gloved hands together and, mindful of her sheathes, crossed her legs to stare blearily out the dark, slightly foggy window.

They passed into Industrial, the shops of Bowerstone Market becoming warehouses and run-down homes. Factories rose up, tall and imposing, between buildings to dominate the skyline; black and brooding sentinels against the cloud-laced velvet sky. Gas lights spread too far apart to be of any real use, burned low here as well, creating tiny islands of light amidst the dark. Victoria saw not a single person on those streets, not even the homeless, and felt a pang of loneliness.

The Resistance was headquartered nearby. Victoria wondered how things were going for them. If they were any closer to overthrowing Logan. If they were crippled by the loss of Ben and herself, or emboldened. Most of all, she missed Walter. He had always been a part of her life, and to be so close to him now without being able to see him or give him a hug or _something_ just seemed unjustly cruel.

But she couldn't try to go to him and wouldn't even _consider_ asking Reaver. She could just picture the conversation. _You know those friends of mine who hate you and Logan? Well they're headquartered nearby. Can we drop by for a moment? I miss them terribly._ Victoria nearly snorted. Yeah. Like _that _was going happen.

They followed the river and, as they drew nearer the sea, it grew even colder. Victoria took an experimental deep breath, icy air searing her lungs, and frowned at the mist it produced. _Great._

Slowly, they came up upon the docks, which Victoria would admit were creepier than the dead city around them. Unmanned ships bobbed like icebergs in the black water. Crates, barrels, ropes, bundles…all left in heaps as though forgotten for the night.

She did a double take, raising her head from her hand as she realized she had been wrong in her assumption that the docks were deserted: a man stood at the edge of one of the piers. He stood under a guttering lantern, which gave him a strange, almost ape-like appearance of long, bulky arms and a squat, barrel-shaped body.

"Higgs," Reaver said cheerfully, making Victoria start in surprise. He ignored her, continuing to look out the window as they approached. "Excellent."

"We're finally here?" Victoria yawned, stretching slightly. The cold made her body stiff and she lamented not being able to soak in a hot bath. _There are people here who are homeless. Stop whining._ She uncrossed her legs and straightened up, feeling somewhat abashed. "Not that the cold isn't doing _wonders_ for keeping me awake, but…_it's about time_."

Okay, so maybe crabbiness won out over humility sometimes.

"Trust me, princess, soon you will wish it were only this cold."

Victoria nearly groaned. Instead, she set about waking Nero, who, most understandably, did _not_ want to wake up.

The carriage pulled to a stop and the driver opened the door for them. Victoria clambered out, her stiff limbs aching in protest. She felt a twinge of jealousy when Reaver smoothly departed the carriage with a grace that was simply lost to her. Why did she never look that elegant doing something so simple?

"Still alive, I see, Mr. Higgs," Reaver called, straightening his coat as he made his way over to Higgs. Victoria followed closely behind him with Nero at her heels.

"Aye, Captain. Not for lacka tryin', though," was the gruff reply. Higgs didn't look as ape-like as his silhouette had promised. His thick coat explained his barrel chest and his arms only looked long for the sleeves of said coat were much too long for him. Higgs' most startling quality, however, was that he had copious amounts of bristly gray facial hair to make up for the fact that he had gone bald beneath his cloth cap.

Victoria was too busy staring blankly at Reaver about him being called "Captain" to notice Higgs's extremely weatherworn face was creased into a smile. _Captain?_

"Aren't we all?" Reaver chuckled softly. "Are we ready to cast off?"

"I think so, sir. Lawson's gettin' edgy. Says we should be expectin' a storm."

"With good reason." Reaver sounded thoughtful as he looked first from the sea, then to the sky, and finally to Victoria, who could not have given him a look of greater puzzlement if he had suddenly spouted a second head. "Ah, yes. Shall we get on, then?"

Higgs gave a quick, respectful nod and led the way down the pier. He and Reaver discussed things on the way that Victoria was sure had to do with the ship, but that went right over her head. Which was just as well, because Victoria was unsure if she was expected to help aboard the ship or not.

Victoria slowed and trailed behind the men as they neared the ship. Her brown eyes widened as she looked up and then _continued_ looking up. It was…_huge_. That was the only way Victoria could think to explain it. A scattering of lanterns kept the long deck somewhat illuminated and Victoria could see people hurrying about it. She also caught sight of a couple black shapes moving about the masts and rigging. People were all the way up there? It gave her vertigo just to think of being so high up amongst the lines and canvas with no support.

Feeling nervous and hesitant, Victoria caught up with Reaver and Higgs, the latter of which was sorting out luggage with their driver.

"So," Victoria began awkwardly, "I guess the rumors are true and you really are a pirate?"

"They are," Reaver replied, thoroughly amused by her nervousness.

"I…thought it was bad luck for a woman to be aboard."

Reaver's smirk turned secretive. "I think the crew will make do."

There was a double meaning to his words, she was certain, but Victoria didn't understand it. She had a feeling the joke would be made evident soon enough.

She was gestured up the gangway first. Once on deck, she found herself staring about, curious as to everything happening. Reaver's crew was extremely diverse; some looking like they'd barely come of age and others as though they'd spent their entire lives aboard a ship, some handsome and others so weatherworn and scarred they were mildly frightening. One in particular, the bosun, made her feel particularly meek and defenseless. His head was shaved, his massive body was rippling with muscles; his height was impressive and his smooth, ebony skin was so dark it rivaled Page's. Victoria noted the whip at his side with apprehension.

As Higgs climbed onto the deck, Victoria caught sight of a lithe, cloaked shadow standing at the wheel. Before she could observe it for very long, the cry of "Captain on deck!" came from Higgs and a chorus of greetings rose from the crew.

Victoria stood to the side as they sent forth a flurry of questions and remarks Reaver's way. He handled it better than Victoria had expected, issuing orders and answering queries with practiced ease. Once everything had calmed down, there was a quick mock-role call as they rattled off names incase there was a new member one of the crew had not yet been associated with. Victoria was suspicious that it was more for her benefit, though, as she learned that the dark skinned man answered to Bedeau. She received a surprise shortly after Higgs had announced his name and position as second mate.

"Lawson; first mate," a voice called. A _woman's_ voice.

The princess turned toward the wheel, seeing that the figure had removed their hood to reveal a pretty woman who was decidedly impish.

"_Kitten_," Reaver said, his tone faintly scolding and completely at odds with the pleased smirk spreading across his lips.

"Welcome back, Cap'n," Lawson said as though she were a school child up to no good.

Reaver gave her a look that was indecipherable to Victoria, but obviously made loads of sense to Lawson, before issuing orders to cast off. The deck, once more, became a flurry of movement and Victoria stood in the middle of it all as sails were hoisted and they prepared to weigh anchor.

After a few moments, Victoria realized Reaver was no longer at her side. However, despite her not being directly under their captain's thumb, the crew seemed to neither notice nor care that she was there. She received a couple bids for her to move out of the way, but no dark looks or threats or otherwise malevolent behavior. _Of course_, she thought slightly sulkily, _they could all just think I'm Reaver's little toy and they don't want to risk his wrath by doing something to me._

"'Ello," Lawson said from right behind her, her heavily accented voice forcibly cheerful. "Victoria, righ'? I'm off watch, wanna cuppa?"

The petite woman was bristling with energy, her pin-straight, flaming red hair falling out of its various bonds from her constant fidgeting. Her dark brown eyes darted everywhere, completely on alert.

"I—yes, thank you, Ms. Lawson," Victoria said politely, unsure how to react and aware that she was being moved out of everyone's way.

The pirate shook her head slowly, leading the way to a door that led below deck. "Don't bother with titles here, there's no need for 'em. 'S just Lawson. An' there's no need for thanks, either; I was told ta watch ya."

Victoria gave an annoyed huff. "What sort of trouble could I _possibly_ get into on a _ship_?"

"You'd be surprised."

As they descended below deck, Victoria had the curious sensation of being lowered into a rabbit hole. The walls were close, barely four feet across, and the ceiling so low Victoria had to wonder how people taller than her, which she usually found to be a rarity, could get through without having to duck. The hall's lighting was questionable as they approached the galley and Victoria could hear the thumping of boots and the muffled shouting of voices from the men above.

"Still," Victoria admitted, "I don't exactly feel trusted."

"Ah, but have ya done an'thing to _earn_ trust?"

Victoria opened her mouth to say that _of course_ she had, but stopped herself. _Had_ she? She felt guilty when she realized she hadn't. _It's only Reaver_, her mind insisted petulantly. _Does he_ really _deserve your trust_? She frowned. _Only if I want his in return_.

"Wait," Lawson said sharply, stopping in front of a slightly open door.

Victoria, anticipating something bad, immediately froze. She peered intently through the gloom, watching as Lawson bent over to grab something.

"Damnit, Scur," the redhead grumbled, straightening up with a rumpled-looking tuxedo cat in her arms. "How many times 'ave I told ya, hmm? Not 'fore we get out ta sea, ya daft ratter. Bad Scurry."

Scurry purred, looking regally at the humans with a superiority that rivaled even Reaver's most arrogant of looks. Nero, who'd been following his mistress, suddenly grew alert, his ears perking up as he strained forward to sniff Scur with a whine. The cat yawned.

"Bloody cat," Lawson muttered fondly, giving it a gentle toss into the room beside them so that the cat landed on a low shelf. It took Victoria a moment to realize the shelf was actually a bed and Lawson closed the door quickly, cutting off Scurry's next escape attempt.

They continued on their way, entering the galley in short order. There were tiny, overstuffed cabinets everywhere and an ancient-looking cast iron stove that looked so small it could have been a child's toy. One small, scrubbed wooden table took up about half of the room and a large group of mismatched chairs had been squished in around it. One of the cabinet doors was slightly open and the princess saw a large variety of small, tightly sealed metal tins and a couple glass bottles with their corks covered in wax to water-proof them. Victoria wasn't sure what to think of the tiny, cramped room and so she decided not to comment about its state. However, as Lawson busied herself with a cupboard, Victoria said quietly, "You don't like me, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

Lawson set a kettle on the small stove, lit it, and turned to frown at her. "I don't trust ya. You're usin' him ta make ya feel better about yerself."

Victoria was visibly taken aback. "I'm not using Reaver for _anything_," the princess retorted, unsure why the truth felt like a lie. "I don't even _like_ him."

"_Really_?" Lawson looked skeptical at best.

"Really. And let me remind you that _you don't know me_. You've no right to judge."

The redhead flushed. "You're right, I don't know ya. Bu' I know wha's been happenin'. The men, ya see, don't give much a damn ta what goes on on land. Bu' I do an' I listen; an' I don't wan' ya takin' him down with ya."

Victoria stared at her, dumbstruck. Was Lawson…warning her off Reaver? Before she could stop herself, Victoria blurted, "Are you in love with him?"

The woman froze as if slapped, clearly puzzled. As revelation dawned on her, her expression turned to one of disgust. "_What?!_ No! I'm a bit of the wrong sexual pref'rence ta be in _love_ with _him_."

"Oh!" Victoria gasped, turning red as she realized what she was inferring. "So you're—? I—I thought—I mean, you were so angry and he called you Kitten and I—I just—"

"Kitten's a stupid nickname he came up with when I firs' joined the crew; I _hate_ it, by the way. An' I was _angry_ 'cause I respect the damn man. Where's yer head at, girl?"

Blushing furiously, Victoria accepted the mug being handed to her, grateful for something to hide behind. "I apologize for taking liberties."

"We both 'ave been taking 'em," Lawson admitted uncomfortably. They were silent a moment as they sipped their tea before she added, "I still don't trust ya."

"I'm fine with that," Victoria said, surprised that she actually was.

A short ringing of a bell sounded, and Lawson looked up and sighed. "D'ya wanna see where you'll be sleepin'?"

Victoria smiled into her mug. "Please."

* * *

There was a blissful weariness that descended upon Reaver's body every time he went to sea. The overload of strenuous activity exhausted him better than even the most satisfying of lays, which was a good thing. If he was exhausted, he fell right to sleep and, if he slept as lightly as he usually did at sea, he'd not dream. Not dreaming was wonderful.

As they entered upon open seas and the need for both watches to be on deck together diminished, however, he found himself confronted with a _very_ frustrated Kitten. Which he knew from experience, and from a great deal of memories that would scare a great deal of people (namely men) away from his first mate—including a rather vivid memory of her making a man a eunuch for insulting her—that leaving her frustrated only led to even more trouble. Soothing her, unfortunately, was also trouble, and he ended up having to remind her that it wasn't her place to question him. When eight bells finally rang out and midwatch ended, he left the slightly peeved woman alone so he could sleep. Ames Bedeau and Higgs could talk to her if she _really_ needed it.

It was sometime after four in the morning that Reaver finally found himself entering his darkened quarters. As soon as the door was closed behind him, he began shrugging off all unnecessary clothing; after all, if you had to sleep, it was best to sleep in enough clothes to get you through a battle, should one happen to occur.

He paused as a soft sound broke the stillness of the room. Reaver, quietly as he could, slipped over to the bed. Victoria lay there, clad only in her night things and trapped in a dream. A _very_ good dream, if Reaver had to guess. The princess was flushed, her body twisted sinuously in the sheets as she tossed her head from side to side.

Tossing his shirt onto a chair, he sat down beside her, watching with interest. _Don't fight it, ma sirene. You'll feel _so_ very much _better_ if you just relax._

As if in response to his unspoken words, Victoria gave a frustrated sigh.

Further intrigued when the blankets slipped to reveal her bare leg, Reaver slid closer to her. _Tease._ Slowly, he placed a hand on her ankle. He paused upon realizing that he couldn't remember actually touching her bare skin without gloves on before. He'd always made it a point to not do so, in fact. Her skin was soft and overly warm to the touch. Feverish, even. His fingers barely graced her skin as he slid his hand further up her leg, slowly as though she might shatter if he was too quick about it. Reaver could feel her trembling and relished when he heard her whimper.

Regretfully, he found that the blankets kept him from going higher than the middle of her thigh. He traced patterns along her skin and pressed a kiss against the side of her knee, not wanting to move the blankets and risk her waking and ending his fun. _Someday soon_, Reaver thought, tracing her pulse solicitously_, you are going to stop being such a little tease, sirene._

Reaver pulled his hands away, pushing down silly things like thought and emotion. As he got up to finish getting ready for bed, he decided that it was almost unfortunate that the princess's chances of surviving the voyage were slim.

* * *

**AN:** This now concludes our regularly scheduled update of pirates and voyeurism. So, new chapter is up, E3 is tomorrow, and Reaver's being naughty. Just a normal week for us all, eh? :P I have to admit, I had fun with this chapter. It was hard to write, but it was great fun as well. My apologies for not being terribly chatty, right now, I'm in slightly ill humor, so...have some cookies and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. =) See you all soon. Please review! ^^

**Dev. Notes:** So...I've got a really long-standing love of pirate ships. When it came to transportation to Bloodstone, it was kinda a no-brainer for what to use, especially given Reaver's background. Since t_he Reaver_ was blown to pieces in Fable II, I wanted to do something entirely different than it. Peter David's Reaver short (go buy it and read it, if you haven't yet) mentions that his ship is a schooner, which is fine and dandy, but schooners, though fast, just aren't big enough for me when thinking about how big Reaver's personality is. I considered a brigantine, like _the Marianne_, but...in the end, I decided it was either go big or go home and I went with a frigate. Which is a war ship, for those of you that don't know. There's a few reasons for this. One, frigates are huge; they can do vast amounts of damage and also take a lot. Two, camouflage; the navy also uses frigates, so what better way to blend in than by using a similar ship? I'll...give you more ship info next time. Toodles for now!


	11. Unfamiliar

_"There's a path running under the city where the stones and the hills divide.  
There's a path we can walk through the loss and the pity.  
She's out of the light; she thought it'd be safer.  
__She said, 'I wanna go home.' E____yes turn gray like her face in the paper._"  
~The Birthday Massacre (Leaving Tonight)

* * *

**Eleven:**  
**Unfamiliar**

"So…they _eat_ men?"

"I di'n't say that."

"Oh. But…do they?"

"How'd I know? I ein't a man."

The ship rolled and pitched gently beneath them, but neither Victoria nor Lawson noticed. They were set to dock in Bloodstone in only a few hours, and the princess had come on deck to clean her cutlaseer for lack of anything else to do, only to find the red haired pirate also on deck, scrapping ice from the railings. Avo forbid the _Arachne_ sank due to icing. They would have ignored each other had it not been for the women they suddenly saw in the water off the port side.

They were almost heartbreakingly beautiful, that was obvious; like statues of angels or goddesses come to life. One was in the frigid water, staring coyly at the passing ship as she clutched at the large rock four others had occupied. Sirens. Their long hair kept their nude bodies from view as those partially in the water flashed their sleek, fish-finned tails. In the pale blue light they emanated, Victoria could see that the sirens' beauty was marred only by their unquenchable hunger.

The one in the water, with her long mane of dark curls pooling around her and her sweet face expressing only childish innocence and unrequited longing, was softly singing. Victoria couldn't quite hear the words of it and the haunting quality of the melody almost made her want to get closer and listen. _Almost_. Until she and Lawson began talking about what _exactly_ a siren did and Victoria began to wish she were far away and on land. She _really_ didn't want to be eaten by the pretty fish-ladies.

But the sirens kept back and Victoria was allowed to clean her weapons in relative peace. She looked critically at the gleaming, exotic-looking blades. The slightly curved knives were longer than her forearm and inlaid with strange symbols. Fast and sharp, they were wonderful weapons; though, as she caressed the polished wooden hilts of the borrowed blades, she longed for the worn leather grips of her own, slightly nicked, pair.

With a sigh, she sheathed the blades in her leg sheathes and sat back to stare at the dark, pre-dawn sky. _There's so many stars here…._ It was nice to be traveling again, it really was (though she supposed it would be even _better_ had Reaver _not_ been dominating her dreamscape). But, as their journey had progressed, she felt useless. Like she was wasting her time when there were _other_, more important things she could be doing. Not that she could do anything, even if she figured out _what_ she was meant to do.

It wasn't exactly like she could just run off or contact the Resistance. Though, she had to admit, the thought of running away from Bloodstone, when they reached it, amused her. Especially when she took into consideration some of the advice she'd picked up from various crewmembers around the ship: one, never wander about Bloodstone unarmed. Two, don't follow people you don't know (and be wary of those you do know), which was clearly a given. And three, _stay away from the marsh_. Despite Wraithmarsh's dreadfully cheery name, she was actually quite curious about it. And then she thought about Mourningwood and about how it was full of hobbes and hollow men, and Victoria felt a sudden lack of interest to see it with her own eyes. She could be called a lot of things, some of them unflattering, but stupid was not one of them.

On some level, Victoria supposed, she herself could be to blame for why she had no purpose aboard _Arachne_. A day or so after they had set sail from Bowerstone, they had encountered a storm. Though Reaver had managed to sail them almost entirely around it, they had still been caught in the backlash. In the confusion, Victoria had been asked to relay some orders to the men working at the top of the royal yard. While she had done her duty, she'd also almost fallen from the rigging. Afterwards, she had been expressly forbidden from all other attempts at helping them with their work and that had been the end of it. Victoria had the feeling the pirates would be glad to be rid of her when they docked.

Sighing, Victoria attempted to bolster her mood. Well, if anything, at least she'd be able to eat something more than hardtack and salted beef when they got to town.

As the ship was set to dock, Victoria thought she caught sight of a siren following them, but it was gone much too quick for her to be certain, and the ship itself became far too busy for her to be on too much of a watch for dangerous creatures. She could worry about those once the sails were reefed and the anchors were dropped. Though, as it happened, after all was said and done, when they alighted on shore Victoria was too preoccupied with the town around her to be worried about what lurked off shore of it.

From the sea, Bloodstone had looked rather charming; all its little buildings and ships nestled in a little cove like something out of a fairy story. Submerged in it, Bloodstone was another thing entirely. Though the roads and stone wharf were kept in fine repair, the buildings were quite a different story. They were all various shades of dilapidated: broken windows, and even a couple broken doors, appearing to be commonplace among the shops lining the waterfront. One stall's sign was missing, lying splintered on the floor nearby, and a few other stalls were smashed beyond repair. Whores, some of them startlingly young, advertised their wares from street corners, doorways, and alleys. And yet, in those selfsame alleys, Victoria caught sight of multiple corpses in various stages of decomposition.

In stark contrast, the Leper's Arms, a pub, was bristling with life. Boisterous talk and laughter, furious shouts, and off-key singing melded with jaunty music, mixing into a riotous sound that rolled merrily into the streets. Those of the crew who were neither remaining with _Arachne_ nor returning home immediately made way for it. Though Lawson—who still was cold and untrusting towards the princess—sent the pub a wistful look, Victoria was glad when Reaver led them away from it. She wasn't sure she wanted to meet the locals so soon.

_This entire town is mad._

"Bet ya wish ya were back home righ' about now, don't ya?" Lawson asked cheerfully, picking up on Victoria's apprehension.

"_Caroline_," Reaver said warningly. It took a moment before Victoria connected the name with the suddenly blushing Lawson.

"Righ'. Um…sorry, Cap'n. Won't happen again. We'll jus'…um…go up 'head, eh?"

"That would be wise, Kitten."

Still blushing, Caroline quickly made her way ahead of them, pulling a trunk of luggage with her. She was soon followed by the ever-silent, ebony giant that was Ames, who bowed deeply to his captain and the princess before departing with the rest of the luggage.

Victoria and Reaver followed at a much more languid pace.

"_You're_ from _here_?" she finally said, disbelief heavily colouring her voice.

"In a manner of speaking," Reaver replied, amused by her. "What do you think of my little coastal paradise?"

Victoria worked very hard not to blurt the first thing that came to mind. She bit her lip, throat working for a very long moment before she took a deep breath and sighed, "It'll do."

"Your father said much the same thing."

There was a laugh in Reaver's voice as he picked up his pace, but his words had caught Victoria's interest. As she struggled to keep up with him, she panted, "Wait! You can't just leave it like that. What else did my father say? _Reaver_!"

* * *

Tendrils of mist clutched at their feet as they walked. The walk up the hill was longer than anticipated and Victoria never got an answer to her question. Day was beginning to break, pale and cool, as they approached a heavy set of iron gates. They were elegant and, when Reaver pushed on them, they swung open easily. As they stepped into the terrace full of winter-blooming flowers, Victoria found a bit of confusion in finding that the air seemed warmer than in Bowerstone. Maybe that accounted for the lack of snow on the ground. _Strange._

She looked up at the house as they approached, surprised by what she saw. It was old, that was a given; its paint beginning to peel and the exposed wood was weathered gray. It, like the _Arachne_, had the air of proud elegance slowly beginning to decay as the new, strange world around it began to take over. But it didn't change the fact that they both were beautiful; the house's high, arched windows glowing welcomingly with warm light and the oddly new-looking front door was unlocked when they approached.

Needless to say, that the inside of the manor was as lavish and opulent as any of Reaver's other residences was _not_ a surprise to her.

Victoria didn't bother looking around. It was so late and she was so tired, all she wanted to do was fall into a warm bed before the sun rose too high. She pulled off her leather gloves and stuffed them into her pocket before working on getting her coat off. She paused mid-way through undoing, in her opinion, a stupidly long row of buttons as her eyes found Reaver. "Are you _going_ somewhere _already_?"

"Yes. Lots to do. Things are about to get relatively _giddy_, I'm sure you understand," the pirate-turned-industrialist quipped as he switched greatcoats.

Victoria didn't, really. "But we've only just arrived!"

"_Exactly!_ Well, tatty bye. Must be off."

He left her standing there somewhat frazzled. He was up to something; she could just _feel_ it. Victoria wasn't sure that, this time, she wanted to be lucky enough to find out _what_.

* * *

It was unlike any town she had ever been in. Every morning, the misty little town of Bloodstone stayed in a sleepy silence until quite late in the day, leaving only shop owners and fishermen to rise early and allowing Victoria the freedom to roam as she pleased for most of the morning. The rest of the day was spent with her thrust into the chaotic whirlwind of the general populace.

It quickly grew exhausting dodging the constant threats, even if no one acted on them. But, despite the overall unfriendliness of the town's occupants, Victoria couldn't help but thrive on it. And maybe, just a little bit, she was beginning to understand Reaver's insanity. You needed to be a little bit insane to survive in Bloodstone.

As for the man himself, Victoria saw a pitifully small amount of him. At first. He was out all day, only to return to his mansion after Victoria had gone to bed (she'd rejoiced for a second bedroom and had immediately claimed it before anyone could tell her otherwise), and he left well before she awoke. The first time she caught sight of him, Reaver had been in a strange mood. Preoccupied, one might say. That attitude had held up through most of their subsequent meetings.

She, however, refused to let Reaver's oddness distract her. She _wouldn't_ let herself get pulled into trouble for getting interested in what he was doing again!

After spending the first day attempting to acquaint herself with the town, Victoria spent the second day exploring. When exploring Reaver's house had failed (the damned study door was _locked_, for some inane reason), she turned her curiosity outward. She'd plodded through the marshy graveyard and clambered about dark caves. She'd comforted Nero when they'd ran into huge rats nearly the size of small cats in the remains of someone's cellar. And she'd tried not to break her neck as she wandered about a rocky bit of shore, before making her way through some abandoned warehouses. If anyone minded her prying, she never heard about it. Victoria wondered if, like the servants back "home", the town's folk had been warned away from her.

It wasn't until the third day that anything _really_ happened to make the trip remarkably memorable. And not in the best of ways. In hindsight, she wished she had stayed in bed that day.

Victoria had woken up early and decided to see if she could get into the lighthouse. It had caught her attention quickly, and she'd found it fascinating to stare at; its form twisted and slightly crooked. The walk up to it was arduous, but the cold air was bracing, and the walk turned out to be nothing compared to the time she spent trying to convince the lighthouse keeper to let her in.

The man was wizened with wooly hair and blackened teeth. For some reason, he seemed quite averse to letting her enter. Well, that is until a familiar face showed itself. Ames the bosun, bogged down with buckets of lamp oil, called out to the ornery old man in a language Victoria had absolutely no familiarity with. The keeper apparently did, for, still grumpy, he stood aside to let her in. Victoria thanked him, then followed Ames up the iron stairs, wondering all the while what the pirate was doing there.

Up and up, she went in circles, never seeming to get any closer to the top. She couldn't help but think it was…something in need of a change. Or, at least, a lift. When the interminable stairs finally _did_ end, Victoria found herself, sweating and panting, assaulted by a blessedly icy breeze. The town spread out below her and Victoria was amazed by how high up she was. It brought back distinct memories of looking out over Bowerstone from the castle's gardens. She leaned against the railings, trying to take it all in and Victoria offered Ames a soft "thank you" when, finished restocking the lamp, he wordlessly pointed out an old spyglass to her.

As the pirate's heavy footfalls faded down the long flight of stairs, Victoria opened the small telescope and pointed it towards the town. She smiled. She could see the few people that were up, wandering about the streets. She watched them a moment before, on a sudden whim, turning toward the sea. There was a dark shape there, an enormous tower rising above the waves, visible throughout most of Albion. The Spire. With the spyglass, she saw it clearer than usual; the pulsing blue light shot through the center, the strange, spike-like structures jutting out of the water at slight angles around it.

_Theresa_, Victoria thought wistfully. _Are you over there? Why will you not help me? Have I messed up so badly I'm no longer of use to Albion?_ If she was expecting the red-hooded seeress to suddenly manifest or send her a sign, she was gravely mistaken.

Sighing, she considered putting the spyglass down. _Don't. Just stop thinking about it. You'll make yourself depressed again._ It was the truth and she knew it. She resolved to put it out of her mind and fetch Nero from outside the lighthouse so they could find something else to do. That plan, naturally, failed when a bit of movement near the edge of town drew her attention.

_What?_ She turned the spyglass and looked for what she'd seen. Her eyebrows knitted together when she found it. _Reaver?_ It _was_ Reaver; him and another person Victoria didn't recognize. They were headed out of town and Victoria felt a slight stab of betrayal about that. _What are you up to? _Curiosity was beginning to eat away at her. _Don't do it_, she told herself. _Don't. You_ really _shouldn't do it._

It was too late and no use and she knew it. Before she could do more to try and stop herself, she'd put the spyglass back and raced down the winding stairs. It was faster getting down than up and, ignoring the indignant shouts of the keeper, she found herself bolting from the lighthouse quite quickly. Nero chased joyfully after her, loving that they were running. Victoria was too preoccupied to watch him. Ignoring every warning bell in her body, she raced onward. She _had_ to follow him. Had to _know_. And that, unfortunately for her, was all there was to it.

* * *

**AN:** And Victoria's about to get into trouble again. Can she never go more than a couple days without causing ruckus? No, I suppose not. And it would be terribly dull of me to write her in such a way, I suppose. I think we all, except for Victoria, know what Reaver's up to, do we not? Poor dude Reaver talked into traipsing through Wraithmarsh with him. Anyway. I'm terribly sorry I've been gone so long! What started off as chatting to a couple reviewers for another story of mine turned into a minor guilt trip about how they'd been waiting four years for said story to finish and...yeah. So I ended up trying to hurry and get that other fic's final chapter written (and it's still not done) and then got caught up in preparation for next year's comic con stuff (cuz if I don't start this year, I'll end up without a cosplay next year). And then our AC broke for the third time in two weeks and it's 2:30 in the morning and the AC guy's coming over in a few hours to check it out before they replace it, which I hope is soon since I live in the desert and it's about 90 outside right now and I'm a little out of it, so you might want to ignore me. (I'm serious, I've no excuses, just facts. =( ) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited thus far. Your reviews keep me going and inspire me to get more of this posted (and more of the sequel written). I hope everyone's doing well and I'm sorry, again, for both the wait and lack of review replies. Cheers until the next time we meet.

**Dev. Notes:** Lots of notes. So, let's get to it, shall we? First, let me finish what I started last chapter: ship info. I'm sure most of you know the story of Arachne, so I apologize to those who know it while I reiterate the tale here. Arachne was a weaver who boasted her skill was greater than the that of the goddess Athena; offended, Athena challenged Arachne to a contest. In one version of the story, Athena loses and, jealous of Arachne's skill and furtherly offended by Arachne's tapestry's subject matter (which is blasphemous to the gods), Athena destroys the tapestry and loom and slashes the mortal girl's face. In another version, Arachne loses and hangs herself in humiliation, and Athena takes pity on her and resurrects her. Either way, the goddess eventually turns her into a spider. I named the ship _Arachne_ because Reaver is always boasting that his skill is unrivalled. If anyone was going to challenge the gods, I could see Reaver conducting another Wicker-esk duel with one. The sirens will be important much, _much_ later, so...you will find out about them at that time. =) Victoria's cutlaseer actually come from another game series and that's the only place you'll ever find info about them. They're twin short swords, similar to sais, and I felt they suited Victoria better than just a regular sword. (In short, you need equal parts skill and strength to use them well and to not make a fool of yourself.) About Ames being in the lighthouse: yes, that is the same man as Reaver's bosun. The lighthouse keeper knows him well. Also, there's a reason Ames never speaks: the only person who understands him is Reaver. If you want to think of it in terms of our world, he'd be from the equivalent of Haiti. Plus, I always characterized him as the silent-unless-he-has-something-important-to-say type, so it worked out, I guess.


	12. The Fourth Circle

_"Forever shall they come to these two buttings;  
These from the sepulcher shall rise again  
With the fist closed, and these with tresses shorn.  
Ill giving and ill keeping the fair world  
Have ta'en them, and placed them in this scuffle;  
Whate'er it be, no words adorn I for it.  
Now canst thou, Son, behold the transient farce  
Of goods that are committed unto Fortune,  
For which the human race each other buffet;  
For all the gold that is beneath the moon,  
Or ever has been, of these weary souls  
Could never make a single one repose."  
_~Virgil (Dante Aligheri - The Divine Comedy - Inferno, Canto 7, Lines 55-65)

* * *

**Twelve:**  
**The Fourth Circle**

Wraithmarsh lived up to its name. It was a gray, gloomy place that was perpetually misty. It set her on edge. The cold air seemed to soak down into the very _marrow_ of her bones.

Victoria plodded through icy mud and muck, thankful for her knee-high boots. Fog swirled eerily around her and lowered her visibility. It made her begin to wonder if the area really _was_ as haunted as she'd heard. While Nero loped easily through mud and over rocks and fallen trees, Victoria struggled to make good time. Mud and water sucked greedily at her feet as though it meant to pull her under. Snarled roots, decomposing logs, and hidden chunks of stone continuously threatened to make her fall. Above all, they annoyed her as they constantly made her have to slow down and be cautious of the area. At this rate, she'd _never_ catch up to Reaver.

There was only one thing she had going for her: Reaver had someone with him. If she was the least bit lucky, Reaver would be forced to slow down and keep to the more defined "roads", while Victoria was free to cut through any area short of deep water to catch up.

She made her way through some murky water, trying hard not to splash as the icy liquid attempted to seep in through the tiny gap between her leather trousers and her boots. When she finally reached the other side, she considered taking a leaf out of Nero's book as the collie shook himself dry. Nero didn't like this place. She'd been watching him as they'd been walking and had noticed just how afraid Nero seemed of the marsh. Victoria wished she could say it didn't affect her.

They passed the skeletal remains of some poor fool who'd attempted to pass through the region, bits of rancid, maggot-eaten flesh still clinging to his bones. Taking that as a bad sign, Victoria hurried past it, over a worn footbridge, and down into even more water. She wasn't sure what was worse: the general creepiness of the marsh itself or the shattered, dilapidated remnants of what had probably once been normal life here. Broken corpses of houses, a weatherworn arch, a smashed well, a splintered mass of old planks that may have once been a bridge. It was a depressing, disheartening reminder of just how fragile life was.

Though, there was something other than the creepiness she found…_very_ strange. She should have been attacked by now, she just knew it. Wisps darted erratically overhead as she passed through a towering ring of tombs that rose up high enough to nearly block out the dreary sky, but the wisps never dove into the ground to form hollow men. As she passed through the sepulchers and by an, admittedly disturbing, bone-covered altar, Victoria felt eyes on her. Whispers hung on the wind. Paranoia began to creep up on her. Despite trying to keep a fast pace, she kept her eyes peeled for whomever was watching her. But she had no such luck. It was as thought something had shoved the creatures of the marsh back to the edges, like the audience of a play, and was having them sit and patiently watch instead of interacting with the "actors".

The whispers faded and the all-encompassing silence of Wraithmarsh returned. Or it should have. Victoria could hear voices. Faint, _human_ voices. Glad she was getting close, she bolted down the path from the altar. Dead trees raced past her field of vision and soon she found herself facing an old, covered bridge. There were small patches of peeling red paint that still clung to the exposed wood. The beams supporting the windows had collapsed and the entire structure looked close to following its example at any moment. Victoria didn't want to go into it.

But then she looked to her left and saw the shadowed forms of two people walking far below her and she knew she either had to chance the bridge or look for another way down. _I should find a way down that won't end with me getting caught should the bridge give out_.

There was no way down to her left and so she turned to the right…and felt her heart break. The burnt and crumbling remains of a town lay half-submerged before her. The top of a tower, the falling in roofs of buildings, all barely visible above the waterline and through the heavy mist. _What happened here?_ It was terrible, even more so because she knew nothing about this place and yet it _still_ made her heart wrench. _Put it from your mind_, she thought, remembering what her father had said about making difficult choices. _You just put it from your mind and do what you can_.

She grounded herself and forced her thoughts back on task. A way down. A _fast_ way down. Victoria stepped up to the edge of the cliff and peered down. The drop didn't look too far—well, at least not as far as the one in the Reliquary. _I could make that. I think._ There were rocks down there; trees, too. She could tell right from the off that it wasn't going to be a pleasant landing. _Are you a Hero or not?! Jump!_

Victoria jumped.

The cliff was slightly slanted outward, and she slid a little before the cliff-face sharply withdrew. It took everything in her not to scream as she fell. She landed in a pile of dead leaves and broken branches before rolling into a large rock. The sharp pain of it took the breath from her lungs.

"_Ow_," she groaned softly, lying there a moment. _Such a bad idea_.

_Reaver's getting away_. The thought launched her to her battered feet. She brushed leaves off her as she looked for Nero. He wasn't beside her. Puzzled and worried, Victoria looked up. Nero still stood above her, staring down at her.

"Nero, come here!" she hissed as him, gesturing for him to come.

Nero wagged his tail tentatively at her, then turned and disappeared from her view. She nearly panicked, ignoring why she was out in the middle of some Avo-forsaken marsh in the first place as she worried over her dog. Until she heard the soft creaking of old wood mixed with the even softer patter of running doggie paws. _Dogs_….

Trusting Nero's speed, Victoria clambered out from behind the rock and started up a large dirt path. She wondered if it had been a road once, judging by how clear of over-grown vegetation it was. She hurried under the old bridge, trying not to wonder _why_ metal, people-sized cages were hanging from posts lining the road. At least there was nothing _in_ them. Dirt changed to broken cobblestones under her feet and she quickly had to throw herself down behind a mossy stone fence as she went past one of the hanging cages.

She'd caught up.

Reaver and his companion stood before a door to a strange, monolithic structure. It was far worse than the drowned town; emanating an aura of despair and darkness so great that Victoria wanted to run. She was willing to bet that Reaver had had to stop to reassure his companion against that. _Note to self_, Victoria thought cynically as Reaver opened the structure's door, _if Reaver asks you to follow him into a creepy marsh to get to an even_ creepier _building, do_ not _go with him_.

Nero had rejoined her by then, and, as Reaver and his "friend" went inside, the princess and her dog leapt over the old fence and hurried to the door. They managed to get inside before the door had closed itself with an eerie and final-sounding bang.

There was a brazier burning just inside the door, but its warm light did nothing to soothe the chill that had suddenly instilled itself in her heart. She was overcome with hopeless despair, with the feeling that her life was meaningless and that it would be better to just _die_ than face another day. She wanted to curl up on the floor and cry. Thankfully, she was alone but for Nero, who whined and nudged her hand with his cold, wet nose. Victoria scratched his ears, petting him to soothe them both, and soon his warmth allowed her to move past her fears.

"Let's find Reaver," she murmured under her breath, cautious of echoes.

She made her way down a flight of stairs and into a large room. It was so dark that the tiny torches on the walls barely mattered. Broken tiles and collapsed columns littered the floor, mingling with skeletal remains. Her eyes were locked to the relief set into the wall before her. It was metal, maybe bronze or brass, and had been worked into the shape of three hooded figures. Though they looked like angels, something about them was all _wrong_. Twisted, malevolent. _I have _got_ to get out of here_.

Other than the way she'd come, there were two exits. She tried the one closest to her, struggling to open the grate. It wouldn't budge. Muttering darkly, Victoria turned and walked across the room to the other archway. This time there was no grate and she descended through darkness, finding nothing more than more stairs and thick curtains of dusty cobwebs.

The watched feeling was back. Victoria heard rustling and footsteps all around her, but couldn't place _where_ any of it was coming from. _Once I saw a place_, Victoria's father had once told her when she'd come to him as a child, worried about monsters in her dark room, _where the shadows had eyes that burned, names that I could not hear, weapons that tore, and voices that harmed me worst of all_. He'd gone on to tell her that, as long as she didn't see or hear any of those, she ought to be alright; but it had never been very comforting. And the words had never been as meaningful as they were at that moment. The shadows were watching her.

She passed through room after room, never receiving any indication where Reaver was or how close she was getting to him. She had the great desire to hit the man.

The oppressive feeling of the place closed in on her, and the halls were like a maze of rat's tunnels.

The princess had just passed over some _very_ uneven ground (was it just her imagination or was there small _holes_ in the floor?) and had started down some stairs where she heard it. A scream that chilled her blood. _Oh, Avo, what happened?_

Victoria wasn't aware she had moved when she found herself racing down the stairs and out onto a small landing. For silence's sake, she slowed her footsteps as she rounded a corner. There was an odd red light up ahead. Head slightly tilted, she crept closer.

The next room looked as though it were made up of tombs. In the center of the area stood Reaver, a bit of red velvet in his hands, and his companion, who was encased in a swirling red and black mist. Across a small gap into an abyss, standing before them…before them was a trio of _shadows_. Or, she thought they were shadows. What other word was there for them? _Wraith. Demon_.

She kept back, staying cloaked in darkness as, bewildered and disturbed, she looked on. Why, oh _why_, did she get the _lovely_ feeling she wasn't meant to see this?

The mist retracted slowly, leaving an old man behind. The poor man stood there, mumbling as he stared unseeingly at his hands. Victoria had the desperate want to comfort him, but her growing unease kept her frozen in her tracks. She _really_ didn't want to get closer to those shadow things.

"_The sacrifice has been made_," the shadows announced, their voices echoing through her head in a dragging whisper.

Victoria shared the old man's confusion. _Sacrifice? What sacrifice? What the hell is going on?!_

"Lovely," Reaver purred. His expression never changed from the almost pleasant look he wore as he drew his pistol and fired a shot into the man's head.

Victoria yelped as the shot rang out and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. It was too late, though. They'd heard her. Before she could even _consider_ moving, Reaver was aiming at her.

"Now, now, don't _hide_. Be a _good_ little stalker and show yourself," Reaver called.

His condescending tone did nothing to inspire confidence. _Amazing, that_. Her thoughts were heavy with sarcasm while she hoped Reaver didn't have a clear shot at her. _He's_ definitely _going to kill me this time_.

"_Come. Come to us_," the shadows beckoned.

She felt somehow disinclined to not do as they asked. Unwillingly, she walked slowly into the chamber. The air was dank and the scent of old, and new, blood assaulted her nose. Victoria pointedly kept her gaze away from Reaver. She didn't want to see his expression.

_You're monsters_, she thought, unable to speak and unable to comprehend why she was so unreasonably afraid as she stared at the trio before her.

"_Another sacrifice? We do not require another_," they said, their attention divided evenly between the terrified girl and the man who continued to aim his gun at her. "_Or is there something else you want with her? Do you want her? Did you lead her down here to make her like_ you, _Thief Prince?_"

Victoria couldn't help but think that that was one of the strangest things she had ever heard. Maybe she'd consider pondering it if she left the place alive. She wished she'd just stayed in bed that morning. So much for not letting Reaver distract her.

"_Hardly_," Reaver scoffed, his voice far more mocking than those of the shadows'. "It's a simple matter that she's a little sneak with nothing to do with this."

"_We will see about that_." They turned their attention fully to Victoria, who was doing her damnedest not to cower. "_Are you afraid of us? Do you like making deals?_"

"No," Victoria managed after a second, her throat too constricted for her to speak much above a whisper. "And, even if I did, I wouldn't make a deal with _you_."

Her mind screamed at her for it, deciding she was as big of an idiot as they all probably thought she was. What was she thinking? Did being a Hero kill the part of the brain reserved for tact? _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

The shadows didn't appear to care or even notice the blatant disrespect. "_Not even for those you have lost? Do you not want to see them again?_"

Victoria's heart leapt eagerly. Elliot! Her father! She missed them so much and longed to see them just once more. She didn't think there was anything she wouldn't give to see them, or any of the other people she cared about, once again.

And then she happened to glance at Reaver; his dark eyes, usually so expressive, were remarkably dead. Her breath caught in her throat, unrealistic hopes fading quickly. _They're lying to me_, she thought, trying to convince herself. _I refuse to be like_ him. _I won't let them use me_.

"The dead are dead and gone," she told them, defiance wiping away her fears, and she raised her head proudly. "They're never coming back, and getting my hopes up that you can do something that's impossible to do isn't worth the time. When I will die, I will see them again and that's soon enough for me. I don't make deals with _monsters_."

The silence was deafening. Nobody moved; no one spoke. The air had grown positively frigid. Victoria wondered if the shadows were angered by her response or if they were merely disappointed.

"_Then Reaver is correct_," the middle shadow said without tone, his voice as smooth and liquid-like as a still pond on a crisp autumn morning. "_There is no use for you_."

Victoria barely had time to register her feeling of increased foreboding before something heavy struck her. Pain exploded against the back of her skull and she pitched forward. As she faded into black unconsciousness, she heard the same shadow whisper in her mind, "_You are not the first to defy us, Victoria Rochester. You must know it has only happened once in this world. I have seen your heart, child. It never crossed my mind that one so young could hope to find a power greater than our own."_

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**AN:** Will I ever get tired of cliffhangers? Nope. ^^ But, gosh, Reaver! Don't just stand there like an idiot! Save her! ...but will he be able to? And, more importantly, will he even want to? =( Hugs, tea, and love for you all! Please tell me whatcha thought of this chapter. =)  
(Note: To anyone I currently owe a review or PM, I've got a list of about two dozen people I'm trying to get back to. I promise I'll get back to you ASAP. Also, I'm currently accepting art requests on my deviantART page-link on my profile-if anyone's interested.)

**Dev. Notes:** Um...um...stuff. Yeah, stuff. So. Starting with both the chapter title and the quote, the fourth circle of hell, in Dante's Inferno, is home to the avaricious and the prodigal. In this circle, some of the denizens are forced to beg, their fists closed so as not to receive payment, forever, while others continuously roll boulders up an impossibly steep slope. I...thought it was a good metaphor or Reaver's situation. As for the Shadow Court...I wasn't sure what to call them. Their deal-making habits remind me of jinn, but jinn are supposed to be benevolent unless angered. I thought about demons, but...well, let's be honest, the term "demon" is one that encompasses a very wide range of spirits usually specific to a certain religion. So that's why the wording changed a lot. I almost used shadow men, but then I started thinking about another fandom and the yummy male lead and decided it would be blasphemous of me. ^^ Mmmmm...shadow men...yum. Anyway. "Shadow" just kinda stuck. I also apologize for any walkthrough-like qualities of this chapter...I wrote it while backtracking through Wraithmarsh at the time. Ironically, while I was backtracking, I got the quest for Sparrow's kid to run away at the time...which...is kinda...funny...

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**Anon. Review Replies:**

_Katie:_ I apologize if, sometimes, my wording doesn't make sense. Sometimes my mind scrambles the meaning of things or words them in a way that doesn't make sense to most people. I'm glad you're enjoying the story the further it gets, though. =) Thank you muchly for your review. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	13. Vices And Virtues

_"Let's take Jesus off the dashboard, got enough on his mind.  
We both know just what we're here for; saved too many times.  
Maybe I like this roller coaster—maybe it keeps me high—maybe, the speed, it brings me closer.  
I could sparkle up your eye."  
~Lana Del Rey (Diet Mountain Dew)_

* * *

**Thirteen:**  
**Vices And Virtues**

_She was a child again, wandering endlessly on the streets of Bowerstone Industrial. Her tightly curled hair and freckled mocha skin were the same, but, behind her sharp eyes, Page somehow knew she wasn't _really_ a child. She was just dreaming. _Ugh, how pathetic can I be? I'm not dreaming. People don't just _know_ they are dreaming.

_Her feet navigated the cobbled streets; they seemed to know exactly where to go, though she had no destination in mind. The factories rose up impossibly high around her, emanating the tortured voices of the abused people of Albion. A voice called out for her; called out for help. She had to help them! She raced through the streets, ignoring her child-sized body and any feelings of inadequacy that threatened to creep up. But she was too small and quickly became lost._

_"You are losing sight of your goal."_

_The voice echoed from everywhere and through everything, femininely soft but determinedly blunt. Page had never heard _that_ voice before. She spun in circles, looking for both the speaker and the way out. She found neither._

_"And the world you are fighting so hard to defend is nearing its end," the voice finished._

_Dizzied, panting, the air didn't seem to be reaching her lungs fast enough. At her little intersection of many pathways, Page struggled not to panic. An invisible force pressed heavily against her; it hurt terribly as she tried, and failed, to get away from it._

_"What do you expect me to do?!" she shouted at the blank white sky. "What can I do?! Every move I make against Logan has led from bad to worse!"_

_The pressure vanished instantly and Page stumbled slightly at the release. Something clattered behind her and she whirled around. A…stick? It was a _stick?_ She picked it up slowly, feeling its odd weight and rough bark against her work-calloused hands._

_"I expect you to endure."_

_Page suddenly found herself surrounded. Mercenaries, and a lot of them. Doubt crowded her and it never had before. Fights like these were unsettling, though necessary. There was nothing real to be gained by fighting them. No wars to be won. No leverage against those who oppressed the country. It was just life and death._

_A mercenary's blade swiped the air a little too close to her for comfort. Page jerked back, using the momentum to spin and brain the man behind her. He went down as if he were a puppet with cut strings. A flash of bright scarlet and white darting down one of the tunnels distracted her for a split second and Page had to react quickly to avoid being gutted. She slammed a violent kick into the other mercenary's crotch, smoothly turning afterwards to take out another's knees before bashing him over the head._

_"Does anyone else want to try to take me?" she snarled, confidence beginning to return._

_The remaining mercenaries descended upon her._

_"You are strong, but strength alone will not save you. No true rebel has ever succeeded alone."_

_The mystery woman's words struck home, making her begin to doubt once more. As Page wove and ducked between men, putting all her force into each swing of her stick, she tried to push that doubt away once more. _But I can beat them!

_"Can you, though?" the voice replied to her unspoken words._

_One of the mercenaries' blades struck home, slicing a long gash in her arm. Page's guard dropped for a fraction of a second, but that was all that was needed for them to drive her to the ground. Kicks and punches battered her body, setting her back and ribs ablaze with pain._

_"You are no Hero. A true rebel will fight against all odds, but _you_, Page, can't fight against what you cannot face."_

_The rebel cried out in pain as a kick shattered one of her ribs. Pain, red-hot and unavoidable, seared through her side to envelop it in pure agony. Through the haze her hurt created, Page barely registered that one of the mercenaries was raising his sword to strike her. _No….

_As the blade drew near, Page grabbed it. She ignored how the metal bit into her palms, causing blood to well up and run down her arms. She wrenched hard upon the sword and, once it was free, buried it in her attacker's gut. She yanked it free once more and spun to slash another mercenary across the stomach, splashing guts and gore across the once pristine white floor. Two mercenaries remained. They weren't taunting her, anymore. Bloodstained and, once more, standing tall, Page looked between the two men as challengingly as she could. She didn't give them time for posturing before she attacked._

_Sword and cleaver clashed as Page deflected a blow aimed for her throat with a slash at the mercenary's chest. The other man tried to attack from the right and the rebel leader blocked his cudgel before disemboweling his companion. The man with the cudgel had to have known he was in over his head, but he attacked her nonetheless. Two slashes of Page's stolen sword later, he was dead with a neatly severed shoulder, having been carved open almost all the way through his ribcage._

_Page stood there, breathing heavily and clutching at her broken ribs. Each breath felt like a knife twisting deeper into her lungs. She was unsure if it was the floor or herself that was swaying like a ship on stormy seas. Tossing her blood-soaked dreadlocks from her face, she defiantly spat, "I can face anything."_

_She half-turned as though to leave only to have a fist like a sledgehammer smack into her cheekbone._

_The force of the punch sent her crashing to the floor; her sword falling from her hand to skitter away from her. Unable to get to her feet now, Page tried to crawl away. She'd only gotten a few feet before a massive pair of hands grabbed onto the back of her shirt and trousers and threw her against the wall. She slid down the stone wall; her attacker lifted her limp body from the ground and wrapped his hands around her throat. It may have been delirium, but, as he strangled her, Page thought he'd said, "Not so tough now, are you, bitch?"_

_She scratched at his hands and eyes and kicked desperately at him, trying to get him to let go. But he had a rather firm grip on her and her movements began to grow sluggish. It was about then that Page realized she was afraid. Truly and utterly afraid. _I can't do it_. Her futile attempts to dislodge his hands grew weaker and weaker. _I need…I need…help_. But as her vision began to cloud, she'd never felt more alone._

_The pressure instantly vanished from her neck and Page fell, coughing, to the floor. As she massaged her aching neck, trying to just breathe and to get her vision to clear, a pair of small, bare feet, barely covered by the hem of some red fabric, came into her line of vision._

_"You are never alone, Page. You have many allies, many people willing to risk their lives for you," the mystery woman told her serenely. "I am always here; always watching."_

Page awoke with a start. She'd fallen asleep on the map table again (evidence of her constant late hours) and now her neck was smarting from the odd angle. As she stood up, wiping sleep from her eyes and hair from her face, memories of the dream came slowly back to her. She hoped the creepy woman from her dream was just a figment of her over-worked imagination.

She also, once more, questioned the virtues of trusting others. She'd trusted Kidd to find information and he'd ended up strung up in one of Reaver's cages to be used as bait. However, Page also recalled the feeling of being strangled in her dream, of slowly losing her life with no one to help save her. She didn't want to die like that; didn't want pride to be her downfall.

Page leaned on the map table, looking, to anyone not privy to her thoughts, as though she were studying it intently. There was so much left to do and so many decisions left to make…and she didn't know who to trust. Rumors about the princess combined with her and Finn's timely disappearance was doing wonders for her paranoia. _Work now, worry later._ Page threw herself into her work once more, unsure who to trust.

She wasn't even sure she could trust herself.

* * *

The first thing to penetrate her consciousness was that something wet was nudging her hand. It was very annoying and she wished it would stop. She didn't want to wake up. Sleep was good and being awake only caused pain. She was so _sick_ of pain. But the thing nudging her hand persisted and she began to wish she _was_ awake and could push it away.

And then she became aware of the voice.

"Princess, wake up."

And then someone shook her.

_Go away. I just want to sleep…._

"I _do_ understand the need for beauty sleep, princess, but you _really_ must wake up."

_Go away_, she thought once more as she was shaken.

"_Wake up_, dear. I can assure you, this is the last place you could ever want to take a little nap. _Get up_, princess. I am _not_ going to carry you all the way back to town."

Victoria softly moaned, trying and failing to tell he-of-the-big-egos to be quiet. _Really_, did _no one_ have _any_ respect for sleeping people anymore?

"Princess, my patience is wearing thin. Either wake up _now_, or I _will_ leave you to make your own way back."

She immediately opened her eyes. Being that she was partially laying down, Victoria half expected to see the sky or the ceiling of a room. Or even a wall or some plant life across from her. She didn't expect to find herself staring into a pair of very, very dark, very, very _blue_ eyes. _Blue_. Like the night sky in _Hell_.

"Welcome back," Reaver said with appalling cheer as he sat back on his haunches.

Blinking groggily, Victoria slowly sat up. "R-Reaver? Where—what hap—?" She frowned as the recollection of what had just transpired came back to her. Her eyes narrowed in anger as she glared at Reaver. "_You hit me_!"

"Yes, I did…I should think it actually saved your life, too, as a matter of fact," Reaver replied slowly and almost thoughtfully.

"I don't care _what_ it did, you bastard. You could have _injured_ me, or worse!"

"First of all, I _didn't_ harm you, so I do not really understand why you've a complaint. Secondly. I am _not_ a bastard. My parents _were_ married when I was conceived and they raised me _very well_…to a point, considering they are now, in fact, _dead_."

Victoria stared blankly at him, wondering what exactly he meant. She wondered if he was joking or not. Then she decided she didn't really _want_ to know. "I—wait. Did you just-do you mean I could have _died_ in there?"

Though her mind was still a bit foggy, she knew she'd not exactly made friends with...whatever those shadows were, but she hadn't really considered what they might do to her for it. She was a bit too busy being terrified and disturbed at the time. Victoria had the odd urge to cover herself up at the thought that, just maybe, they had done something to her before Reaver had gotten her out.

Reaver got to his feet, dusting himself off with a distinctly disinterested air as Victoria clambered awkwardly to her own feet. He didn't look at her as he answered, "Yes, I _did_ mean that. This really isn't the ideal place for a conversation, is it?"

It wasn't until Reaver pointed that out that Victoria finally took a look at her surroundings. They were still in Wraithmarsh, situated under an old, gray oak tree not too far from the entrance of the structure Reaver had unintentionally led her to earlier in the day. The morning's mist and fog still clung to the ground, and, though the sun was high, the marsh was still a bleak, miserable gray. The feeling of wrongness in the air was stronger than it had been earlier. She didn't like it at all.

Reaver started to walk away and Victoria bolted after him, not wanting to be left behind. "Wait for me!"

He didn't wait or even slow down. Victoria had to jog to catch up with him, and Nero followed, panting, behind them. Without a single bit of care for his companions, Reaver led them up a path toward the dilapidated bridge and the drowning town.

"Reaver," Victoria said again, catching Reaver's arm. When he stopped to fix her with a bored stare, she added awkwardly, "Th-thank you. For…you know. But—"

"_Don't_ thank me."

"_But_," she continued sharply, trying to hide her surprise at the coldness of Reaver's tone as he pulled out of her grip, "I _still_ want answers."

Their footsteps clunked as they crossed the old bridge, the weathered wood creaking violently in protest. Reaver had a difficult time not sighing. _And here we go…._ He hated when people demanded answers from him; he wasn't the type to offer them freely and it was always _much_ easier when he could simply decide to put a bullet into his questioner's head for asking too much.

However, Victoria knew none of Reaver's opinions on the matter (and probably wouldn't have been too bothered either way) and plowed ahead.

"What happened in there? What were those—those _things?_ What were you doing? What was that place? And why—?"

"My, aren't you _chatty_ when you've had a near death experience."

Victoria blushed. "I just want answers. I think you owe me that much."

"And _that_, little princess, is exactly where you are _wrong_. I do _not_ owe you _anything_." They had stopped walking, coming to a halt in front of the bone altar. Victoria tried to turn away from him, wanting to continue walking, but Reaver caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Irritation flowed from him in waves as Reaver added bitingly, "You have no idea how the world _really_ works, do you? You expect everything to work one way, don't you? That _everything_ is black and white; good _will_ triumph over evil and the entire fiasco will be wrapped up in a pretty box to be forgotten about while the Heroes are praised. But allow me to let you in on a little secret, my dear: _the world doesn't work in that manner_." Reaver let her go roughly. "Such _idéaux_ with result in nothing more than your untimely demise…and we wouldn't want _that_ now, would we?"

A flicker of anger pricked at Victoria. Who was _he_ to treat _her_ like a child? But the anger was soon replaced by a wave of embarrassment. Reaver…had a point. She _did_ expect the world to work in black and white. But why shouldn't she? Why couldn't the world be like that? Maybe, a little voice in the back of her head whispered, she needed to take a better look at things.

Reaver was doing it again, standing too close for comfort. Heart pounding and face red, Victoria whirled around and stomped off in a huff. Sometimes, Reaver _really_ just riled her up.

She had no idea where she was going, just that she hoped it was back toward Bloodstone. Victoria found herself secretly glad when Reaver walked ahead of her once more and led the way. She tried not to look at him, and when she eventually did, found that she couldn't guess what he was thinking. And so they remained mostly silent.

Then, as if the occasional pockets of semi-hidden slushy and icy water and mud weren't bad enough, it began to snow. It came down upon them quickly, and Victoria was sure that, had it been rain, it would have been pouring buckets down on them. She shivered, rubbing her arms and wishing she were like Nero and had fur (though having one of her coats would have been just as nice, actually) as she tried not to think of the previous conversation.

Reaver, however, was somewhat oblivious to the snow and he basked in the pleasure of _finally_ telling the silly little girl to shut up with her uninformed pestering. He'd longed to do so since…well, he could say the precise moment he'd decided he wanted to tell her off so passionately was during his little party. Of course, he had kissed her so shortly after her little outburst that the thought of telling her off had been promptly pushed from his mind. For that moment. But after that…_interesting_ distraction, he began to dwell on it. The girl, and whatever insipid spell she was weaving, was insufferable. He loathed that he even partially enjoyed it. It had been a very long time since someone had purposely vexed him so thoroughly.

Both of them being so completely absorbed in ignoring each other, and by extension their environment, they had no one to blame but themselves for what happened next.

They had just stepped beyond the ring of sepulchers when the wisps, which had been floating serenely over their heads, had become erratic and almost angry with their movements. As though severely infuriated, the wisps dove into the frozen granite-coloured ground. Before either of them could do more than be aware, hollow men, clawing their ways out from their icy prisons, surrounded them. Running was out of the question.

"Any suggestions?" Victoria asked hesitantly as she drew her cutlaseer. She, very clearly, remembered her few and vastly unpleasant encounters with the creatures. Where was a mortar when you needed one?

"Yes. Stay out of my way."

A large hollow man wielding twin swords almost as large as Victoria herself lumbered toward her, bits of dead flesh dangling from its old bones. _Like hell I'm going to do that._ Victoria dove into the fray.

Being as hollow men were, in fact, skeletons, and Victoria knew nothing about the dark and perverse magics keeping them, for want of a better term, _alive_, she wasn't _actually_ certain how to _kill_ them. How do you kill what was already long dead? As it turned out, what seemed to work best was a very simple tactic: hit them until they stopped trying to take your head off.

A well-placed kick sent one of the hollow men stumbling back far enough for her to maneuver properly as she hacked and slashed. Victoria drove one blade into a hollow man's eye before severing its spine. It fell to a pile of useless bones as the princess dodged and dismantled another pair of walking dead. The boom of gunfire made a pleasant background noise to the fighting and made her feel a little more at ease. By Avo, she _loved_ a good fight.

"Would you like me to keep tally?" Reaver called, sounding cynical, though still possessed by morbidly good cheer as he blasted monsters to bits.

The princess cursed as she barely dodged a rusted blade. She savagely and repeatedly plunged her knives into the ribs of her attacker to shatter the bones. "Do you really think we have time for that?"

She didn't receive an answer.

There was no discernible end to the hollow men. As soon as one was felled, another rose to take its place. There were several times Victoria had extremely close calls, and she was much too preoccupied to worry about how Reaver was faring. She figured he was a big boy and could take care of himself, so why worry and die because of it. Snow was making fighting difficult. It lowered her visibility and melted on her over-heated skin, making her grip on her weapons slippery.

Mid-swing, she pivoted her hips and shoulders to add power to her attack as she slashed through an enemy. Victoria wove through the horde, having to block more often than she was comfortable with. Hollow men were slow, but powerful, and a damn sight better equipped than most soldiers. It didn't help that they had absolutely no change in behavior as their horde finally began to thin.

They were shooting at her. It was extremely annoying. Frustrated, Victoria threw one of her cutlaseer; she was supremely satisfied when it buried itself in the skull of a hollow man and the skeleton collapsed. Another hollow man with a rifle was turning toward her. The princess summoned all of her anger and frustration and poured it into her Will. Flames flared in her hands, glowing brighter and more powerful. She lobbed the fireballs at it and felt a wonderful surge of satisfaction as the hollow man exploded.

For the first time since the fight began, she looked to Reaver…and flinched when she noticed the gun that he had aimed at her. It went off with a tremendous bang. Victoria waited for the bullet to strike her, and, when it didn't, half-turned to discover the hollow man she thought she'd killed when she'd thrown her cutlaseer crumbling to the ground.

"_What…?_" was all she managed to ask in her shock.

"I had to make it more challenging for myself," the deviant said lightly, holstering his gun.

Still baffled, Victoria turned and extracted her blade from the pile of bones. She sheathed both knives and started when she turned and found Reaver standing directly in front of her. _How does he _do _that_?

"Forty two."

"I—" Victoria's train of thought promptly hit a wall and derailed, causing her to just stare blankly at him. "_E-excuse me?_"

"Forty two hollow men. It's how many I killed. You…weren't keeping track, were you?"

"Of _course_ not."

"I suppose that means I win, then."

"_No_. That makes it a _tie_."

"I don't think so."

Reaver was internally laughing at her and Victoria slowly shook her head. She decided that that was one of the weirdest conversations she had ever been apart of. "Then, as the winner, could you, at the very least, let this loser borrow your coat? I'm _freezing_."

He scoffed at her. "I think not! You should have brought your own coat before you came to spy on me." When she glared up at him, he added, "And you _are_ bleeding."

Victoria quickly looked down at her right arm to discover that he was right. She'd never even felt it happen. The blood was no longer flowing and so Victoria was unconcerned. She looked back up at Reaver, deciding that they were too close together again. The moment seemed to call for _something_ more; Victoria couldn't fathom _what_, though, and she didn't really _want_ to. It was just too…uncomfortable.

"Then can we just go?" she asked, moving a safe distance away from him. "I don't like this place."

She didn't wait for an answer before leading the way on.

* * *

The sun had set by the time they reached Bloodstone. Their pace had quickened the closer they had gotten to the little pirate town. Shivering, Victoria allowed Reaver to lead her through back alleys, trying to avoid as many people as possible. Occasionally, someone caught sight of their dirty and bloodied appearances and shrugged it off. It wasn't all too uncommon a sight for someone to be in such a mess while in Bloodstone. She wondered if it was a thief thing to always sneak around or if Reaver was doing it for yet _another_ reason he'd neglected to tell her.

They reached the mansion faster than Victoria had thought likely and they both hurried into the warm foyer. The wonderful heat was like stepping into a warm bath and Victoria wondered if someone had made up the hearths; Reaver's staff here were like ghosts, for Victoria had not seen a single servant despite the rooms always being in perfect order. As soon as Reaver closed the front door behind them, Nero shook, splattering muddy water over the expensive rugs. Victoria winced. _Naturally, Nero just _had_ to shake_. She heard Reaver sigh and she shot him a guilty and apologetic look before racing up the stairs to get some distance between them.

It wasn't until she had nearly reached her room, trying to cool the odd warmth in her gut—the same warmth that had been lurking there since just after the battle in Wraithmarsh—by thinking of how much she wanted to collapse into her bed and just sleep, that she noticed she was being stealthily followed. The back of her neck prickled and she made herself pretend not to notice. Reaching the door in question, Victoria opened it and allowed Nero to burst into the bedroom. He trotted wearily up to the plush bed, hopped up, and curled into a somewhat dirty ball on the sheets. He eyed his mistress as if to ask her why she wasn't doing the same and Victoria smiled at the sight. It was…unexpectedly cute. She wanted to join him, but there was one thing she needed to do first. Turning away from the collie, she turned and faced her follower.

Reaver looked different somehow, though she couldn't place her finger on the exact reason why. It was as though everything about him was the same, same tempered grace, same insufferable pride and nauseating arrogance, but it was all _twisted_. His soul was twisted. Victoria paused a moment, wondering where _that_ had come from. _That was odd_.

"You look different," she told him, head tilted slightly as she continued to try and find a logical reason for _why_ he did.

It was Reaver's turn to pause, gloved hand frozen on his bedroom door's doorknob. When he finally, slowly, turned to look at her, his expression was carefully blank, but he sounded genuinely curious as he inquired, "How so?"

Victoria shrugged. "I don't know. Just…_different_. But the same."

An eyebrow was sarcastically raised at her. "_Really?_"

"Really," she muttered, blushing, and added, "Am I supposed to apologize for sneaking around after you?"

"If you would like to. Do you suppose apologies count if you never mean them?"

"I guess not," Victoria admitted.

They were quiet for a long moment, the space between them filling up with all the things they didn't say. Reaver was watching as Victoria awkwardly shuffled her feet and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Don't even consider it," Reaver told her with a smirk when she stepped toward him. "I am _not_ going to let you cry all over me for carting you to safety."

Victoria gave a little laugh and nodded. She knew. She didn't want to cry on his shoulder; though there _was_ something she wanted from him. "Still," she started, walking up to him, "I know you don't want to hear it, but…thank you." With a soft smile, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She pulled away, smile widening at the faint surprise on his face, and added, "Good night, Reaver."

She started to walk away, feeling oddly giddy, when Reaver caught her and pulled her back to him.

"Really, princess, I _must_ teach you subtlety. There is no telling what sort of _nasty_ situations you could find yourself in if I don't." He seemed positively _thrilled_ by the prospect. And then he kissed her.

Victoria was taken aback, but it didn't take her long to respond. She kissed him back fervently; the warmth in her gut growing to an inferno because, by Avo, this was _right_ and she _wanted_ it. Their kiss deepened, their lips grinding together almost needily.

"You ruined the moment," Victoria panted when she pulled away for air. "You _always_ ruin the moment."

"Allow me to make it up to you."

He kissed her, greedily, again; as before, she yielded to him. He slipped his tongue in to taste her, thrilled when she let him and amused when she tried to bite him. As he led her toward the door, he pulled back to suck and nibble at her lower lip. And Victoria let him, and Victoria let herself go.

* * *

**AN:** Oh, hey, hi, long time no see everyone! I'm so sorry about that. =( First there was Camp NaNo (and I almost never update a fic during NaNo just cuz...well, formatting tends to equal a full day's writing), and now mum's divorce stuff is moving forward and we're going out of town for it and I just want it to be over and gah, this sucks. I miss you guys. Anywho. Once the divorce stuff is over, you guys will have me all to yourselves until next NaNoWriMo. ^^ (My, that sounded...erm...more suggestive than I meant it to. Oopsie.) So...onto to chappie stuff? Yeah, that. I...like this chapter, though it's not what I intended it to be. More on why below. But, you know, I think I surprised myself with Page's bit. Seeing as I'm not fond of her...yeah. (I didn't edit this chapter very well, so sorry! I'll be checking for typos when I return.) Well, hope to see all of you sometime this month! Tea and hugs til next time!

**Dev. Notes:** Obviously this chapter was supposed to end with smut! Problem is: I don't write smut. Like..._at all_. It takes me about three months to write a single smutty paragraph (a little less time with yaoi, but you get the picture) because I just can't get the words onto paper. However, Chaotic One (mum) does; actually, she writes erotica on occasion. But, we got news about her divorce, and her Lupus flared up, just as she was starting on the scene and...she just never got around to writing it (and I'm not going to pressure her into it given everything that's happened). Maybe I'll get around to writing the scene one day...maybe not. I kinda like how it ends (like how they'd cut to a fluttering curtain in old movies or something), so I'll probably leave it until it starts bugging me. Sorry if it's disappointed anyone. Also, I hope my song quote didn't offend anyone... ._.

* * *

**To Everyone Who's Reviewed/Faved/Alerted/Read This Fic:** Thank you so much! I adore all of you and it makes me so happy every time I find a new review/fav/alert. ^^ I'm so glad you've all taken to this story so well and that I've not completely dropped the ball on this. MoI's been one of my favorite stories to work on and I look back on every moment with fond memories. As such, I'm glad I now get to share this with you. Please don't hesitate to send me a message or ask questions or anything. It's thrilling to know you're as into the story as I am...even if I do take a while to respond on occasion. Thank you once more for your continued support, I hope to see you all soon. ^^


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